


Dead Ends for Good Men

by headfirstfrhalos



Series: 21P Captain America AU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, And In Which Tyler Joseph is Bucky Barnes, Biracial Character, Captain America: The First Avenger, Corporal Punishment, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, In Which Josh Dun is Captain America, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Kissing, Not Canon Compliant, Period-Typical Racism, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pre-Slash, Segregation, Slurs, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headfirstfrhalos/pseuds/headfirstfrhalos
Summary: When good men die their goodness does not perish, but lives though they are gone. As for the bad, all that was theirs dies and is buried with them.Joshua William Dun was not a perfect soldier, but a good man.





	1. Manzanar

**1943: March**

Josh curled into himself as he sat shirtless on the hard, wooden bench, waiting for his name. The recruitment office was nearly empty, save for two other men and several doctors shuffling behind thick canvas curtains. It was nothing more than a repurposed barrack lined with pop-up tables and makeshift exam rooms. Dust and cold wind blew in through the large gaps between the coarse plywood that made up the pitiful walls of the cabin, and he shivered, wrapping his skinny arms around his equally skinny torso. Unlike last year, there were hardly any men trying out for the Army. But Josh still had faith.

The doctor behind the desk called out a name. "Matsudu, Joshua."

Josh got up, trying to will away his goosebumps as he approached the front. The balding regarded him from beneath his nose.

"Interesting," he said, opening his manila file. "You're registered as Matsudu, but you've applied with the surname 'Dun'."

Oh boy.

"My grandfather was an ambassador to Japan," Josh said. "He and my father married--"

"Mother's maiden name?" the man asked, not looking up.

Josh sighed. "Helen Matsudu."

"I thought so."

The doctor scribbled something down. Josh stood on tip toes to see what he was writing, but he turned the page before Josh could read it. Great. Stuck with a name that wasn't his.

Now the doctor was looking at his health records. Josh winced when he saw the list.

 

  * _Asthma_
  * _Scarlet Fever_
  * _Rheumatic Fever_
  * _Sinusitis_
  * _Chronic or Frequent Colds_
  * _High Blood Pressure_
  * _Palpitation or Pounding in Heart_
  * _Partial Deafness in Left Ear_
  * _Easy Fatigability_
  * _Stunted Growth_
  * _Nervous Trouble of Any Sort_
  * _Has Had Household Contact with Tuberculosis_
  * _Parent/Sibling with Diabetes, Cancer_



 

The doctor closed his file. "Sorry, son."

"Sir, please. Just give me a chance," Josh pleaded.

"You'd be ineligible on your asthma alone," he said, mouth twisting into an unamused smile.

"Is there anything you can do?" he pleaded.

"Yep," the doctor said. "It's saving your life."

He stamped Josh's file with a damning '4F'. _Not acceptable for service in the Armed Forces_. Josh's heart sank deep into his stomach.

* * *

He went to the camp's movie theater to console himself. He had been too sick or sullen to go for several months, and the crowd had grown considerably larger since the last time he had gone even though they only had _Casablanca._ Camp Manzanar was little more than several thousand acres of empty desert, and entertainment was scarce. Josh sat in the back of the makeshift theater, straining to see over the heads of the taller people in front of him.

As always, a reel of war propaganda played before the film started.

" _War continues to ravage the world,"_ the tinny voiceover proclaimed. The Nazi and Imperial Japanese flags waved on the screen, casting a menacing shadow on the ground beneath them. _"But help is on the way. Every able-bodied young man is lining up to serve his country."_

"Who cares?" a heckler from the front row shouted. "Play the movie already!"

Patrons looked amongst each other, tittering at the disturbance. Josh's stomach tightened.

"Hey," he whispered, trying not to be disruptive. "Wanna show some respect?"

The heckler didn't answer.

_"Meanwhile, overseas, our brave boys are showing the Axis powers that the price of freedom is never too high."_

"Let's go!" he shouted again. "Get on with it!"

More muttering.

"Hey, just start the movie!"

Josh resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, you wanna shut up?" he shouted.

The heckler stood up. _Shit_.

Josh swallowed down his fear. He could take him.

 

Josh felt splinters pierce his cheek as his face dragged against the rough, wooden wall of the movie theater. He collapsed to the ground, head swimming as he tried to stand up again. He had gotten a few hits in. He could get in a few more.

He wiped the blood from his mouth and straightened out, rushing forward and tripping over his feet as he swung his fist forward to punch him. The man grabbed his fist and punched him with his free arm, nearly knocking Josh's jaw out of its socket as he soared back and hit the garbage cans, disturbing a cloud of flies as he knocked them over. Desperate, he grabbed a stray lid and held it in front of him like a shield. If he leapt forward just as he--

The man ripped the metal lid from his hands and cast it aside like it was nothing, grabbing Josh's shoulder with one hand while sending a fist flying into his face with the other. _Ow_.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" he asked.

Josh shook his head, raising his fists in a defensive gesture he'd seen in the movies before the war. His heart was fluttering and his lungs were tightening from all the dust, but he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't going to be trampled on.

"I could do this all day."

Another fist came sailing towards his face, and Josh woke up staring up at the empty blue sky as the man stood over him, wringing out his hands.

"I don't understand why you still want to die for this country," he spat. "Look around. They don't care about us. We're just _Japs_ to them. Sucking up to them won't make them like you."

The heckler left, and only then did Josh allow himself to groan at the way his body ached.

* * *

Josh sat at his bench in the mess hall, cradling his swollen cheek. His face was too stiff and sore to open his mouth and eat the rice and canned apricots dumped unceremoniously onto his plate after nearly an hour of waiting in line. He passed the plate to the center of the table for others to take and instead pulled out an envelope from his breast pocket.

The letter was for him. It stank of mud and tobacco and slightly crumpled from his beating. Josh had held off on opening it all day, just so that he'd have something to look forward to. Now was the perfect time to read it.

He carefully opened the envelope, trying not to tear it (he kept the envelopes), and he slid the folded sheet of paper out. It was yellow in the dim, greasy lighting and the handwriting was nearly ineligible. He squinted and pulled the paper closer to his face.

 

_Dear Josh,_

_I know you're going to try out again, but I'm begging you not to go if they take you. I miss you, but I don't want you anywhere near this mess._ _Half a dozen members of my unit died yesterday from the shelling. I don't want that to be you. You can do your part from home._

_I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep without any shelling to wake us up. We've been living off of scraps  for weeks and there's mosquitoes everywhere and they carry malaria and dengue fever and we're all getting sick. There's blood and dirt and shit everywhere. It's nothing like those videos they play. It's nothing like the alleys. It's war, Josh. There's not much in the way of heroics. I just need you to understand that._

_Anyways, we're trying to capture Port Moresby. It's been a month already and we've made little progress. We've been trapped behind this bombed-out building for two weeks now and we're running low on water. Hopefully more will come when it rains, but that means more mosquitoes, too._

_How are things back at Manzanar? Are they feeding you well? We're working with some guys from the 100th, and a few of them are from Manzanar. Some of them know you-- not by name, but when I told them about the skinny kid with the curly hair and the stubborn streak, they all knew exactly who you were. They had some very interesting stories about you. I hope you aren't getting into too much trouble there. You can't get kicked out for bad behavior, you know._

_I'm sorry if I seem angry. I promise I'm not mad at you. I'm just worn out. I miss you a whole lot, you know. I can't believe they're keeping you in that stupid camp._

_From, Tyler_

_PS. Don't do anything stupid until I get back._

 

Josh sighed as he stared at the letter, reading it over and over, not sure if he should be comforted or disappointed. It had been nearly two years since the war began and Tyler hadn't changed his stance since. 

He took out a pencil and a sheet of paper he bought at the camp store.

 

_Dear Tyler,_

_I know you're worried about me and I'm glad you care. I really do. But you just don't get it. I know you don't believe in killing, but you're fighting for a good cause. It's good because it's the only cause that can stop them. If you hadn't gone for your family, if you were stuck in here with me, I know you'd feel just the same. There are men laying down their lives for it, and I have no right as any other to do any less than that, too. I can't just sit here in a camp in the middle of nowhere. I can't let this country think I'm a coward or a traitor. How could I be? I was born and raised here just like you and everyone else out there in the Pacific and in Europe. But this just isn't about me or anything I'm trying to prove about myself. It's just the right thing to do. And I want to do right._

_Manzanar's fine. The winter's mostly over and that cough I got back in November is gone. There's no meat here, just rice and vegetables. They poured apricots over rice for dinner, can you believe that? What do they think we eat? It's not so bad, though. They're_ giving _the food, after all, and it's not like the 30s anymore. My stomach's full every night._

_It's okay if you're feeling worn out. Your work is hard. I miss you, too._

_From, Josh_

_PS. How could I? You took all the stupid with you._

_PPS. Don't win the war until I get there._

 

He folded the letter up and put it in his pocket. He'd get an envelope and some stamps tomorrow morning.

The mess hall was nearly empty now. Only the Andos from Barrack 36 and the young couple from Barrack 12 remained.

And the old man behind him.

Josh nearly fell off his bench in surprise when he saw the brown-coated man looming above him. He looked like he had been reading Josh's letter.

 

"Um, hello," Josh said, nervous. He had never seen this man before. He must have been working with the Army. Maybe he was a journalist.

"You're Joshua Matsudu, aren't you?" he asked. He had a soft German accent. "You came to our office earlier today."

"Dun, actually," he said. "And yes."

"I'm Doctor Erskine."

Doctor Erskine held out a hand. Josh shook it, surprised by the strength of his grip.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked. "I'd like to speak with you in private."

Josh nodded, throat dry as he rose to his full, unimpressive stature. Were they going to try and tell him that he wasn't allowed to keep trying for recruitment?

He followed the doctor out of the mess hall and towards the repurposed bunker. The sun had set long ago, and a deep chill was settling into the land and worming into his bones. Josh tried to hide his shivers from Erskine as they walked. He could faintly hear chattering in Japanese and English farther off in the barracks beneath the crunching of their shoes as they made their way across the dust. The industrial lighting illuminating the borders of the camp was harsh, but he had grown used to it after nearly a year at Manzanar. He stared at the endless rows of barbed wire surrounding the camp as they entered the recruitment office.

It was fully staffed, but quiet. Most of the doctors and nurses were sitting at one end of the barrack, eating their evening meal. Josh was somewhat pleased to see that their fare was no better than his own. Erskine's hand came up around his back and steered him towards the examination rooms, which were little more than little cubicles sectioned off by curtains.

"Take a seat," he said, gesturing to one of the empty cubicles.

Josh complied. The cot was rickety and creaked when he rested his full weight on it. He doubted the thing could support his whole ninety-seven pounds, much less the one hundred and fifty of larger, healthier men.

He knitted his fingers together and chewed the inside of his lip. The curtain separating him from the outside had been drawn and he had no idea where Erskine had gone or when he intended to come back. He looked around the small cubicle. There was a scale, a vision chart, and several other apparatuses intended to measure the health of a new recruit. The equipment was familiar after years of wracking up hospital bills.

"So," Dr. Erskine said as he returned in a flare of dusty curtains. Josh coughed and waved away the dust as Erskine studied a manila folder. "You want to go overseas. Fight for this country. Kill some Nazis, or some of the IJA."

Josh swallowed. "Excuse me?"

"My full name is Abraham Erskine. I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I'm seventy-three, five foot eight, and I weigh seventy-four kilograms. This troubles you?"

"No."

Where was this conversation going?

"What about you, Mr. Dun?" Erskine asked, setting down his file next to Josh on the cot. He sorted through them, and again Josh could see the 4F stamp taunting him from the papers. "Five foot three, though you've claimed you're five foot five several times. You weigh ninety-seven pounds and you're just a few months shy of your nineteenth birthday. You've tried for the Army five times, three before the war began and two after your internment at Manzanar."

"I know my numbers aren't good--"

"The numbers regarding your physique, perhaps, but those aren't what I'm interested in. It's the number of times you've tried."

He closed the folder and tucked it under his arm. Josh's empty stomach sank.

"But you didn't answer my question," Dr. Erskine said. "Do you want to kill Nazis?"

Josh looked around the room, suspicious. "Is this a test?"

Dr. Erskine regarded him. "Yes," he said.

Okay, a test. He could answer this. He swallowed.

"I don't want to kill anybody," he said. "I just want to do what's right."

"But there are already so many big men fighting this war," Erskine said, and Josh tried his best to tamp down the indignation that sparked at the doctor's words. "Maybe what we need now is a little guy."

"Maybe we do," Josh countered, unsure if the doctor was being sarcastic or not.

"Maybe we do," the doctor mused, studying him.

Erskine straightened out. "I can offer you a chance," he said, full of resolve.

So he wasn't teasing. Josh was interested. Dr. Erskine pushed the curtain aside and left the cubicle. Josh leapt off the cot to follow him.

"But _o_ _nly_ a chance," he said as he walked. 

"I'll take it!" Josh said.

Dr. Erskine made his way to an empty desk and opened his file again. "Good," he said, stamping a sheet inside. "Congratulations, soldier."

He handed the file to Josh. Josh opened it, looking at the page Erskine had stamped.

A crisp, black '1A' glowed at him from the paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On 'camp': Josh is in the Manzanar concentration camp of California. 
> 
> On Josh's surname: Interracial marriages were illegal in the USA until 1967. This meant that Josh was interned despite not being fully Japanese (people who were as little as 1/16 Japanese were interned, as well as Korean and Taiwanese people as they were Japanese territories at the time), and also why he's identified by his mother's surname (Matsudu), as opposed to his father's (Dun). Lebanese and other Middle Easterners were considered white since 1909 (save for Jews, Assyrians, and Armenians, who were already considered white), so Tyler would not have been placed in a nonwhite unit, segregated or experienced much in the way of racism. As close as the two of them are, this obviously creates some tension due to differences in privilege and life experiences.
> 
> On Tyler's location: Tyler is stationed in the Pacific and is currently in Paupa New Guinea. TFA focuses solely on the European theater, but I feel that the Pacific is full of stories that ought to be explored or at least mentioned, especially how it affected civil rights back home.
> 
> I finished writing this fic before I started posting it, so updates should come fairly regularly.


	2. Grenade

Josh looked around Camp Roberts in awe. This was the first time he had been outside of Manzanar in a year, and he had forgotten how wonderful the weather in coastal California could be. What a difference a few hundred miles could make. 

The sensation of being half a foot shorter than everyone around him, however, wasn't new at all. He stood in line, surrounded by about a dozen other men who had been recruited for Erskine's chance. No one had said anything about him, but Josh could feel their eyes flicking down to him every once in a while and he knew what they were thinking. Josh closed his eyes and tried to think of how nice and humid the air was and how the clouds kept out the sun.

"Recruits! Attention!"

A young woman in uniform marched down the line. She was _very_ beautiful.

"I'm Agent Ryan," she said, Irish accent crisp. "I supervise all operations for this division."

"Nice accent, Paddy," the man on Josh's left said.

Agent Ryan raised an eyebrow. "What's your name, soldier?" she asked.

"I'm Gilmore Hodge, lucky lass," he said in a terrible imitation of an Irish accent.

Several other men snickered.

"Step forward, Hodge," she said, looking unfazed. Gilmore smirked and obeyed. "Put your right foot forward."

Gilmore opened his mouth to make another comment, but Agent Ryan's fist caught his teeth before he could make a sound. He collapsed to the ground, groaning. Josh bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud.

"Agent Ryan!" someone shouted.

"Colonel Phillips!" Agent Ryan said, snapping to attention.

"I see you're breaking in the new candidates. That's good, that's very good."

Colonel Phillips turned to Gilmore. "Get your ass up."

Josh watched as Colonel Phillips paced back and forth in front of them. "The General says that wars are not won by weapons. They are won by men. And we, gentlemen, are going to win because we have the best men."

He paused and regarded Josh. Josh tried his best to keep staring forward and not turn bright red as his fellow soldiers' shoulders began shaking with silent laughter. His face burned with humiliation and he curled his toes inside his boots.

"And because they'll get better," Colonel Phillips finally added.

Josh swallowed. He wasn't sure how well he could manage that.

* * *

He couldn't do a single pushup. He couldn't run more than a quarter of a mile before collapsing with exhaustion. His fingers fumbled around his rifle and his skinny limbs swam in his uniform. He tried, though. Not trying would mean being sent back to Manzanar. Not trying would mean embarrassing himself in front of the Army and shamefully admitting to Tyler that he was right. He had no choice but to try.

He still got letters from Tyler. That didn't change. It seemed that Tyler would be with him; from the cradle to the coffin. Hodge and Leyden and all the other guys had their girlfriends; Josh had Tyler.

 

_Dear Josh,_

_I still can't believe you actually made it into the Army. I'm happy for you, I really am. I know it's what you've always wanted. Tell me how training goes._

_A crab crawled up my pants a few days ago. I was asleep and I didn't notice that anything was in there until I woke up in the morning. Then it pinched me, and I swear I screamed so loud every soldier in a five mile radius could hear me. The wound is the size of a silver dollar and hurts more than any bullet wound. Doc Samson just laughed at me and didn't give me any gauze because me and Malarkey dropped it in the mud the last time he let us use it. I guess that's fair. I'm limping like an idiot, though._

_We finally took the Port. It doesn't feel much like a victory, especially after so many losses. That and Germany's been providing Japan with weapons like I'd never seen before. I'm not sure if it's already on the news, but if it isn't, the censors will get this paragraph anyways. These guns shoot out this blue light, and it vaporizes soldiers on the spot. It's awful, but I_ _guess it's better than slowly bleeding out in the jungle. Then again, most things are. I've been lucky enough to avoid such a fate, but every day is full of new opportunities._

 _Get out there and sho_ _ot those bastards down for me, would you?_

_From, Tyler_

 

Josh had indeed heard about the strange new weapons. Erskine would tell him about little what he and his committee knew about them during suppers in the mess hall. All they were sure of were that the weapons were from HYDRA, Germany's technology branch, and that there were a lot of them.

Josh had little time to write back to Tyler. Right now, his brain was foggy from a lack of oxygen as he struggled to keep up with everyone else's pace. He was at least ten feet behind everyone else, including Smith, who had flat feet and waddled like a duck. The dust being kicked up by them and the wheels of Agent Ryan's Jeep was getting into his lungs and eyes. He coughed once, twice, three times, feeling his lungs spasm miserably.

The drill instructor shouted something he couldn't decipher and they all came to a stop. He didn't have the energy to rejoin the group and instead stood a few feet away, hands on his knees as he wheezed, sweat dripping from his brow and making dark spots in the pale dust. The instructor pointed at the flagpole in front of them.

"This flag marks the halfway point," he said. "The man who brings it to me gets a ride back with Agent Ryan. Go!"

Everyone else rushed the flag, leaping over each other trying to climb the pole. They all slid down, weighed down by their heavy packs and the slippery texture of their uniforms.

Josh stood off to the side, still recovering, watching them uselessly fumble. His eyes were drawn to the base of the pole. It wasn't just one long stick driven into the earth; instead, the pole was on a hinge kept in place by a long metal pin.

The others had long since given up and resumed their run.

"Come on, Matsudu! Fall in!" the instructor called.

"Gimme a second," he said.

He walked up to the pole, studying it before bending down to take the pin and give the pole a small shove. The whole thing crashed down magnificently. He yanked the flag from the end and handed it to his instructor.

"Here," he said, grinning. Agent Ryan seemed impressed. He hopped into the back of the car and gave his teammates a lazy salute as he drove past them, down the trail and back towards the camp.

 

_Dear Tyler,_

_Training is going well. I don't mean to be proud or anything, but I think I'm Dr. Erskine's favorite._

_There’s a lot I’m not supposed to tell you for security reasons. The censors go over what I write before I’m allowed to send it which gets kind of uncomfortable at times. Either way, I'm just happy to be here. It's difficult, but not everything is about strength. I managed to hitch a ride back to the camp on Agent Ryan's car by getting the flag off its pole. Everyone else tried to climb it, but there's a pin at the bottom that you can pull to bring the whole thing down, which I did. Apparently I was the first person to get it in seventeen years. Did you have to do that when you were training?_

_It might not feel like a victory, but it certainly is one. We're one step closer to winning the war thanks to you. You guys out there are doing great against those weapons. No one back home knows how they work. We're waiting for someone to leave one behind but they seem determined to keep every last one. If anyone is going to manage to grab one, it would probably be you. You're fast enough._

_From, Josh_

_PS. Stay safe._

* * *

**1943: April**

Matsudu wheezed as he struggled to complete pushup after pushup. He hid himself at the back of the line, which wouldn't protect him from the eyes of the Colonel or the Agent, but it would spare him the laughter of his fellow trainees as they did ten, twenty, thirty with ease.

Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine watched the men perform their drills as Agent Ryan berated them from the shade of a stopped supply truck. The Colonel noticed Erskine was watching Matsudu intently.

"You're not really thinking about picking Matsudu, are you?" he asked.

Erskine turned to look at the Colonel. "I'm not just  _thinking_  about picking Mr. Dun," he said, leaning against the side of the truck. "He's the most obvious choice."

"We gave you the choice of one candidate. When brought me an asthmatic, ninety-pound half-Jap to my base, I let it slide. I like you, Erskine, even if I only understand you as much as I do Chinese. I thought that maybe he'd be useful to you, like a tester or something. I didn't think you'd actually seriously consider him."

"Get up!" Agent Ryan ordered. "Give me fifty jumping jacks."

"That boy disappears when you turn him sideways," the Colonel said. He watched as Matsudu pathetically flopped his limbs about, his wheezing audible from across the yard 

"Look at that," he continued, turning to the doctor. "He's making me cry."

Dr. Erskine sighed. "I told you, I am looking for qualities beyond the physical."

Colonel Phillips scoffed. "Do you know how long it took to set up this whole project? All the groveling and begging for funds from Congress?"

"I know, that, Colonel, and I appreciate your efforts."

"Then do this for me."

He pointed at Hodge, front and center. "Hodge over there passed every test. He's fast, he's strong, and he follows orders. He's a soldier--"

"He's a  _bully_ ," Erskine cut in.

The Colonel scoffed again. "You don't win wars by being  _nice_ , Doctor."

Colonel Phillips brushed past Erskine and reached into the back of the truck. He pulled out a dummy grenade and showed it to the doctor.

"You win wars with guts," he said, pulling the pin.

He tossed the grenade into the group.

"Grenade!" he shouted.

The effect was instantaneous. The men leapt away from the dark metal ball, running for cover behind a Jeep and tucking their limbs. Matsudu, however, did the exact opposite. Phillips watched in amazement as the skinny kid threw himself on top of the grenade, curling up and trying to cover it with his meager body.

"GET BACK!" he shouted. "Everyone, get back!"

The grenade didn't go off. Matsudu looked up, confused, and the rest of his teammates looked up from their hiding places behind the jeeps. Agent Ryan stared down at him, bewildered. Erskine smiled.

"It was a dummy grenade," Colonel Phillips explained. "Get back in formation."

The other soldiers returned to their positions, but Matsudu remained on the ground, staring up at the Colonel.

"Is this a test?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Phillips and Erskine looked at each other. The doctor shrugged, obviously smug. Colonel Phillips snorted.

"He's still a Jap,” he told Erskine. “A skinny one at that."

* * *

Erskine chose him. Josh had no idea why, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t elated.

Josh sat on his cot, alone in his barrack. Everyone else was taking their time to finish dinner, but he just wanted to be alone for a little while. Being surrounded by people every minute of every day wore him out.

He had a book in his lap, but his eyes were merely skimming the lines. He ached to write Tyler a letter and tell him everything. They told each other everything.

He heard the door open and recognized the soft, shuffling footsteps of Dr. Erskine. He held a bottle of liquor and two small glasses in his hands.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing at the cot across from him.

Josh closed his book and set it aside. “Oh, yeah.”

He sat down, setting the glasses on the trunk at the foot of each cot. He kept the bottle in his hands, turning it over and over in his hands and watching the brown glass glint in the low light.

Josh swallowed. He had wanted to ask him a question all day.

“Dr. Erskine?” he asked. “Why did you pick me?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. Crickets chirped outside.

“This is from Ausburg,” Dr. Erskine said, turning the label to face Josh. “My city. So many people forget that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own.”

Josh wondered where the doctor was going with this story.

“You know, after the first war, my people struggled,” he continued. “They felt weak, they felt small. And then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags and the—the. You know. You were in one of your own.”

He made a vague gesture with his hands, and Josh thought about dust and barbed wire. Dr. Erskine took a breath and continued.

“And then he hears of me, my work. And he finds me. And he says, “You.””

He pointed at Josh.

“He says, “You will make us strong.” Well, I was not interested.”

He set the bottle down on the wooden floor.

“So he sends the head of HYDRA, his research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of Johann Schmidt. Now, Schmidt is a member of the inner circle. And he is ambitious. He and Hitler share a passion for occult power and Teutonic myth. Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers. But for Schmidt, it is not fantasy. For him, it is real. He has become convinced that there is a great power hidden in the Earth, left here by the gods, waiting to be seized by a superior man. So when he hears about my formula and what it can do, he cannot resist. Schmidt had to become that superior man.”

“Did it make him stronger?” Josh asked. Maybe the man was dead and Erskine’s story was nothing more than a cautionary tale. He didn’t want to think of the alternative.

“Yes,” the doctor said. “But there were other… effects.”

Josh felt his stomach twist. Dr. Erskine noticed the expression on his face and gave him a moment for his words to sink in.

“The serum was not ready,” he said. “But more importantly, neither was the man.”

Josh furrowed his brow.

“The serum amplifies everything inside,” Erskine explained. “Good becomes great, and bad becomes worse.”

There was a pause.

“That is why you were chosen,” he said. “Because a strong man who has known power and privilege all his life loses respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of his strength and uses it with compassion. You're a gentle soul, Mr. Dun.”

Oh. That’s why.

“Thank you,” he said, mouth dry.

Erskine took the two glasses and handed them both to Josh. He opened the bottle and began to pour the liquor.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing,” the doctor said, corking the bottle.

“What?”

“That you will stay who you are.”

Dr. Erskine took a glass from Josh’s hand.

“You don’t have to be a perfect soldier,” he said. “Just be a good man.”

He could do better than that, he thought. He could be both and make them all proud.

“To the little guys,” Josh said, holding out his glass.

The cups made a tiny clink as they touched, and Josh touched his glass to his lips. The scent of the brandy felt hot in his nose.

“No, no! Wait!” Erskine yelped, pulling the glass away. “What am I thinking!”

Josh tilted his head in confusion.

“No, no, you have a procedure tomorrow. No fluids.”

The doctor took his glass and poured the contents into his own.

“That’s okay,” Josh said. “We can drink it after.”

“We?” the doctor asked. “I don’t have the procedure. You do. Drink it after? I drink it now.”

Josh laughed as he watched Erskine down his liquor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Debby's accent: Ryan is an Irish surname, and the whole little quip from Hodge makes more sense given that hating Irish people was still kind of a thing at the time.


	3. Radiation

They drove him back to Los Angeles. It was strange seeing his hometown again after so long. He recognized the streets but not the shops that lined them. All the Japanese-owned businesses had been sold for a fraction of their value following the order made last year, and all the investors and developers that swooped in had finally finished their new projects. It was like his home had never been there.

"Welcome to Bronzetown," the driver said.

_Bronzetown? What happened to Little Tokyo?_

"That used to be Mr. Doi's grocery store," Josh said to Agent Ryan, who was riding in the back seat along with him. "And that used to be the pharmacy. That was the Nakamuras' restaurant. They made really good food. I don't know if they gave me extra soup because they liked me or just thought I got beat up too much."

"Oh."

Josh looked at Agent Ryan. She seemed distraught. Maybe he sounded a little too bitter about what had happened to his neighborhood.

"You said you got beat up a lot," she said, changing the subject. "Why?"

Josh shrugged. "I just-- I have to stand my ground. And sometimes that means hitting harder than I want to. It takes twice the effort to get half the respect they do." 

She nodded. "I know how that feels."

Josh's eyes wandered to the glinting bars on her lapel.

"Why did you join the Army?" he asked. "I mean, a dame as beautiful as you-- woman. Agent! I mean, you are beautiful, but--"

He spluttered and gave up, folding his hands and staring at his lap. He could feel the flames of Hell licking at his ankles. Dear God.

She laughed, and the sound was soft and pleasant. "You have no idea how to talk to women, do you?" she asked.

"Nope," Josh said, forcing himself to smile. "I think this is the longest conversation I've ever had with one. I'm, y'know,  _this_."

He gestured at himself. 

"Not even a high school sweetheart?" she asked. Josh's chest felt tight.

"No," he finally said. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "Going out and finding people--  _girls_ , it was always difficult. Then the war started and it was even harder, so I figured I would be okay like this."

"Alone?"

"No. I, uh, I used to live with a friend. I figured we could keep living together after the war ends."

"Is he in the Army?"

"Yeah."

"Where's he stationed? Europe?"

"Nope. The Pacific. He was in Guam, last I heard."

The car came to a stop in front of... an antiques shop?

"Why are we here?" Josh asked as they got out of the car.

Agent Ryan opened the door. A tiny bell tied to the handle tinkled as the door swung open, Agent Ryan entering and Josh following.

It was crowded with furniture, paintings, and cutlery from the last century. He suddenly recognized one of Mrs. Nakamura's little decorative statues, the ones she kept on the counter at her restaurant. He swallowed, eyes fixed on them as he walked through the shop.

An old woman was sitting at the register.

"Hello," she said. "Wonderful weather we're having today, aren't we?"

"Yes," Agent Ryan said without missing a beat. "But I always carry an umbrella."

Josh glanced between the two women. Secret code.

The old woman began walking into the back room and Agent Ryan followed. Josh stumbled after them, starting to cough from all the dust floating through the shop. An enormous bookshelf lined the far wall. The woman flicked a light switch and the shelf suddenly swung open in two sections, revealing a hidden hallway. Doctors and military personnel trotted back and forth, pushing carts and writing on clipboards. He couldn't help but let his mouth gape in surprise as Agent Ryan walked in, cool and unfazed. Josh followed. He looked behind him and saw the steel doors of the false bookshelf swing shut. 

The secret chamber was expansive. They passed dozens of doors, all of them swinging back and forth as people darted about. The largest doors at the end of the hall, which Agent Ryan was headed straight for, seemed to be their destination. 

A pair of guards waiting at the end of the hall opened the doors for them, and the sight on the other side made Josh's stomach swoop.

Below them was an enormous laboratory, bustling with white-clad scientists and khaki-donned military personnel. There were enormous, round lights casting the sterile room in a harsh industrial glow, white light glinting off the menagerie of machines and devices arranged around the center of the room.

Everyone stopped and stared at Josh when he entered. He felt a sudden urge to hide behind Agent Ryan. He looked up at her. 

"We're here," she said, turning to descend the wrought-iron stairs. Josh bit the inside of his cheek and followed, feeling his insides quiver with each step.

Dr. Erskine was waiting for him at the bottom. Josh almost didn't recognize him without his brown coat.

"Good morning, Mr. Dun," he said, shaking his hand. Josh realized how sweaty his hands must be. 

A flash filled his vision, and Josh saw a reporter carrying a large camera. 

"Please, not now," the doctor said, still holding on to Josh. The reporter apologized and ducked away, returning to the small gaggle of men and women dressed in civilian business clothing standing under the stairs. Josh didn't see them when he came in, and the presence of the newspapers and God knows who else did nothing for his nerves. He hadn't eaten dinner last night or had breakfast this morning, and he worried that he might faint. 

Especially when he looked at the device in the center of the room. It was shaped like a dissembled torpedo, with a flat surface at its center where he would lie down. He could see open metal jaws where his limbs would be clamped in. He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Are you ready?" Dr. Erskine asked.

His mouth was too dry to speak. He nodded. 

"Good," the doctor said. "Take off your clothes."

He loosened his tie and handed it to one of the technicians, hesitating before untucking his shirt and unfastening the buttons. His pants were removed next, along with his boxers, shoes and socks. He stood naked. His bare skin hit the cold air and he shivered, goosebumps pricking his skin. If this went well, he wouldn't be so cold anymore. 

If.

He climbed onto the apparatus and laid down, the cold metal pressing into his bare back. He stared up at the ceiling, wiggling his limbs. A curl of hair was in his eye. He blew it out of the way.

"Comfortable?" Erskine asked, face appearing in his line of sight.

Josh looked down at himself. His feet were nowhere near the bottom of the platform and there was plenty of room for him to wiggle on each side. 

"It's a little big," Josh said, trying to joke. "Did you save me any brandy?"

"Not as much as I should have," the doctor admitted. "Sorry."

Erskine looked back at the room. "Mr. Urie! How are your levels?"

Josh looked up. Mr. Urie, as in Boyd Urie, as in Urie Industries? Boyd Urie, who Josh had once dragged Tyler to a science fair at Santa Monica to see?  _He_  was involved with this?

Mr. Urie approached him, shoulder to shoulder with Dr. Erskine. 

"We may dim half the lights in L.A., but we're as ready as we'll ever be."

Josh thought about his demonstration of his new anti-grav car. He thought about the fact that the car caught on fire and then exploded. He thought about himself in this device. 

God save him.

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He watched Agent Ryan leave for the booth with the other businessmen and soldiers. Her pin curls bounced as she walked. 

Dr. Erskine had a microphone. "Is this on? Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace."

Several technicians clamped Josh in place inside the apparatus. He was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. They caged in his chest, arms, and legs. Straps were buckled across his stomach. How painful did they expect this procedure to be if they secured him this tight?

"We begin with a series of microinjections into the patient's major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change."

A doctor wheeled in a dish covered by a cloche on a cart. He lifted the cover, revealing half a dozen vials of blue liquid. A nurse took the vials and set them into the little holes in the sides of the machine. 

"And then, to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays three times over the course of three weeks."

Josh had no idea what a Vita-Ray was. And Erskine had said nothing about the procedure lasting  _weeks_.

Another doctor came with a syringe filled with a clear liquid. This must be some sort of primer, maybe penicillin. She wiped down his arm with alcohol and quickly injected it into his arm before he could say anything. He winced as she pressed the plunger, a cold feeling seeping down his arm and through his body. The syringe was quickly exhausted, and the needle was gone. 

Erskine turned to Josh. 

"Ready?"

Josh nodded.

"Beginning serum infusion."

The wide metal pads resting on his pectorals and arms were suddenly lined with dozens of tiny needles, all pricking into his skin. He yelped at the sensation, wincing and trying to keep a brave face for everyone there. This wasn't being smacked with a ruler by his teacher; history was being made here. He couldn't cry. Erskine rested a comforting hand on his bare shoulder, gently patting him before he pointed to Mr. Urie. The technicians behind the control board did  _something_ , and the apparatus restraining Josh began to tilt vertically until he was facing the room upright. 

His scope of vision began to shrink. He twisted his head around in a panic. The sides of the machine were folding up and began closing around him, sealing him inside a space not much larger than a coffin. Panic bubbled up inside him.

Dr. Erskine's face appeared in the little window in front of his face. "Joshua?" he asked, tapping on the glass. "Are you alright?"

Cold air suddenly began rushing in through the pod, making breathing marginally easier.

"Is it too late to go to the bathroom?" he asked.

The doctor smiled. 

"We will proceed," he called to the technicians. 

Radiation did not manifest as a bright, burning light. Josh had no indication that the Vita-Rays were even present until about thirty seconds in. His skin began to tickle, and then crawl. He wanted to move to try and itch himself, but he was held fast by all the straps.

"Ten!" Mr. Urie called out.

Ten what?

"Vita-Rays are radiation-- a blend of high-energy light waves meant to temper the effects of the serum," Dr. Erskine said to the audience. "It is not a very dramatic sight to see, in fact, it cannot be seen at all, only felt. This light you see in here is not from the radiation but simply the lights inside the chamber. How are you feeling in there, Joshua?"

"Twenty!"

Josh was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable now. He looked outside the window, breathing hard enough to slightly fog up the glass.

"I'm okay," he said. "Just a bit tickly."

"Keep going," Erskine said to Urie. The tickling grew stronger and now began to burn.

The burn was definitely painful now. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. His muscles and bones felt fizzy, like his blood had turned into soda pop in his veins.

"Thirty-five percent!" Urie called.

Thirty-five. He could do this. He'd been in pain much worse than this. He thought about the time he broke his ankle. And the time he got pneumonia. And the time he got thirty strikes with a ruler. He could do this.

"Forty!"

He could do it. But Christ, it was hard. He tried to take a breath but ended up crying out. Erskine's face appeared in the window, and Josh tried to doctor his face into something more collected.

"Are you doing alright in there, Joshua?"

"Yeah!" he said, choked. "I'm not gonna chicken out."

"Fifty-five!"

Josh gasped like a landed fish inside the chamber. Just trying to clench his hands to ground himself caused immense pain in every muscle. His skin felt strangely tender as well, and the straps were beginning to chafe.

"Sixty!"

A tear slipped from his eye and streaked down his face. That was a mistake. It felt like molten lead as it traced the curve of his cheek, and he screamed. Once he started, he couldn't stop. His lungs were burning and his throat was hoarse, but he kept still and endured.

"Joshua! Joshua! Are you alright?" Dr. Erskine asked, still watching.

"Yes!" he shouted, unable to even open his eyes to see the doctor.

"Shut it down!" he heard Agent Ryan shout. "Shut down the reactor!" 

Erskine moved away from the window to comply, but Josh couldn't let him. He needed to do this. He needed them just as much as they needed him.

"Don't!" he shouted. "Don't shut it off! I can take it!"

There was silence outside, though Josh couldn't focus on anything beyond the way he burned.

"Seventy!" Urie finally called.

Thank God. They listened to him. Erskine's face appeared in the window again, worry lining his face. Josh blinked at him through his tears, vision obscured as his sweaty hair began falling into his eyes.

"Eighty!"

Josh screamed.

"Ninety!"

Josh screamed.

"One hundred!"

Josh no longer had the strength to scream. He fell limp, letting the pain wash over him in waves and curls until it became nothing but a throb of hot and cold. His vision was blacking out, and he wondered if he was dying. He tried to take deep breaths, tried to think of Tyler or Erskine or Agent Ryan or fighting in the war with his new body, anything to keep him awake.

It didn't work. He succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

The enraptured audience watched as the Urie shut off the Vita-Rays after five minutes on full capacity. Joshua had fallen silent some minutes before, and the businessmen couldn't help but wonder if the tiny man inside had perished. Agent Ryan nibbled at her fingernails, an old habit she had never been able to kick since she was a little girl. She liked Matsudu, small and angry as he was. He had more courage than could fit in his body, it seemed, and she admired that. 

Agent Ryan's eyes met Dr. Erskine's several feet away. He gave her a small nod. He would be okay.

"Open the chamber!" he ordered.

A technician pressed a button, and the chamber slowly opened with a pneumatic hiss. They leaned forward in their seats. What were they going to see when the steam cleared?

Strapped into the machine was Joshua Matsudu: badly sunburnt, unconscious, and just as scrawny as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSYCHE
> 
> On 'Bronzetown': Order 9066 gave the Japanese only a few weeks before evictions would begin. Allowed to take only what they could carry, many of them sold their homes and businesses for a fraction of their true value. Black, Latino, and Native Americans moved in in their place, and the area became known as Bronzetown for a time.
> 
> On Boyd Urie: Yes this means that Brendon Urie is gonna be Iron Man. I can't wait to write him in TWS!


	4. Growth

**1941: May**

Getting home after school was an hour-long walk full of dodging loud, smelly vehicles and navigating the disorganized, twisted roads. Josh walked shoulder to shoulder with Tyler (or rather, shoulder to chest. Tyler had towered over him since middle school). His backpack jostled against his back, the hard books inside poking his back uncomfortably. The weather was getting warmer now that summer was on its way, and Josh was sweating uncomfortably under his collar as the sun glared in his eyes.

"Hey, Tyler?" he asked, raising a hand to shade his eyes as they passed a newspaper stand. " _GERMAN BATTLESHIP 'BISMARK' SUNK IN NORTH ATLANTIC BY ROYAL NAVY"_

"What?"

"Do you think we're gonna join the war?"

"What makes you say that, Josh?"

Josh shrugged under his heavy book bag. He heard a suspicious  _rip!_  in the left strap. He sighed. He was going to have to mend that at home on top of his homework and taking care of his mother.

"Dunno," he said. "There's just so much going on in Europe, and that stuff with Japan. It's the US, we're bound to get involved at some point."

"Please don't tell me you're thinking of going."

"We're not even in the war yet, Tyler. And I'm fifteen. I'm just saying that we might."

"'Yet'."

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for their turn to pass. A pigeon stumbled past Josh and pecked at Tyler's feet.

"What are  _you_  gonna do?" Josh asked.

"I mean, I won't have much choice," Tyler said. "They'll draft me the moment I turned eighteen. I really hope we don't get involved."

"What about all those people? The Jews and the Koreans and all of them."

"There's a million other men fighting for them, Josh."

"And they'd  _win_  if we fought with them."

Tyler pursed his lips. "I guess you're right. How's your mom doing?"

"Not that great. She's coughing more and I think we might need to take her to a hospital soon."

"It's that bad? I'm sorry, Josh."

"It's fine. I'm sure she'll be okay."

They turned onto Temple Street. The smell of cooking meat from the restaurants filled his nose, and his stomach grumbled.

"Y'know," Tyler said, straightening out his shirt as a gaggle of girls passed him on the sidewalk. Josh kept his eyes on the ground. "If you guys need help with paying for medicine or anything, I'm sure my parents would be fine with helping."

"I can't let you guys do that," Josh said. "I can always just get a job or something if it ever gets to be a problem."

"No offense, Josh, but I don't think you're really cut out for working in the fields. The pollen will kill you."

"I can handle it."

"But you don't have to. I don't want to watch you drop out and struggle. You're-- you're a lot smarter than most of the other kids, you know that? You oughta do something with that head of yours."

"Thanks, Tyler. But really, I can manage."

They arrived at Tyler's building, a nondescript five-story building built out of mud brick. Josh lived further off in Little Tokyo, where Tyler and his family were not allowed to live. He pulled his copy of the key out of his pocket the same time Tyler took out his own and they looked at each other, both keys held to the lock.

"After you," Tyler grinned.

Josh unlocked the door and held it open for Tyler. He had always complained about how heavy it was, and Josh took it upon himself to ensure that Tyler would never have to open it again.

"Thanks."

"It's nothing."

"I'll see you tomorrow? We can go to the park and just relax, if you have time."

"Sounds good. I'll see you."

The door swung shut and Josh was left to finish the rest of his commute alone. He took a deep breath and straightened his crooked shoulders, stretching as tall as he could and walking briskly, trying not to think about the strange looks passerby gave him.

He was in a different world the moment Tyler was no longer with him. He lived at the edge of the white neighborhood, but Josh's mere presence was enough to make the people here uncomfortable. It was disheartening and exhausting but he met their eyes and kept walking. It was his city as much as it was theirs.

He passed the diners, the movie theaters, all the businesses with their signs posted above the door.

_IMPERIAL LAUNDRY CO.: WE WASH FOR WHITE PEOPLE ONLY._

_REX THEATER: COLORED SEATING IN REAR_

_JACK'S CAFE: NO DOGS, NEGROES, MEXICANS_

Josh held back a sigh and kept walking until he was out of the white neighborhood and back in Little Tokyo. The streets and smells and people were familiar, and now the signs changed. 

_THE GEM THEATER: FOR COLORED ONLY_

_PUBLIC SWIMMING POOL: COLORED ONLY_

_THE TURBAN BILLIARD HALL: FOR COLORED FOLK ONLY_

There were the restaurants and the shops and the apartments, the scent of smoke and fish and gasoline wafting through the air. He could see his own apartment several blocks away, towering above the lower shops. Laundry lines fluttered from the fire escapes, cutting colorful lines into the dusty blue sky.

His mother was halfway down the stairs when Josh unlocked the door. Her hair was down and left straight and unkempt and the shadows under her eyes seemed to have grown deeper since Josh left for school that morning and he couldn't help but think that she looked like a ghost.

 _"There you are, Josh. I'm just going out and getting some udon for dinner,_ " she said, her Japanese hoarse and soft.

" _From Mr. Aki's shop?_ " Josh asked. She hadn't had the energy to cook for several weeks and Josh didn't have time to do it for her between school and helping her with the household chores.

" _Yes_ ," she said. _"I'll be back in thirty minutes._ "

" _Alright. You know, I can go for you if you're tired_ \--"

" _No, it's fine. I need the fresh air_."

" _Okay_ ," he said, though he worried. " _Thanks, Mom._ "

She continued her descent down the stairs, and her coughing echoed in the stairwell.

* * *

**1943: April**

Josh was in pain. Before he could see, before he could hear, he was aware of every cell in his body screaming out. He took a deep breath and winced. That hurt too.

It took him a moment to open his eyes. He was on his back, laying on something soft and staring up at a cream-colored ceiling. It was quiet, unlike a hospital. Where was he?

A snuffling sound at his left grabbed his attention. Dr. Erskine was asleep in a chair. He must have been watching him all night.

He thought back to what had happened to him. The doctor said it would make him bigger, faster, stronger. Right now he just felt sorer.

He looked down at himself. His arms were still like sticks. His feet were still far from the other edge of the bed. His chest was still sunken and bony. His skin looked like he had fallen asleep on the beach. He tried to move and immediately regretted it, groaning when the muscles of his legs protested and sent a sharp ache shooting up his body.

The sound alerted Dr. Erskine, and he stirred, eyes opening slowly.

"Ah," Erskine said, rubbing his eyes. "You're awake."

He pulled his glasses from his pocket and placed them on his nose, blinking before looking over Josh.

"I'm awake," Josh said. "I wish I wasn't though. I'm sore everywhere."

"That's expected. I'm sorry that you'll have to go through this without any morphine. It affects the process."

"It's three weeks, right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for all the pain."

"It's okay. I can handle it."

"You're a very brave man, Joshua."

By the third day, the pain had subsided enough that he could sit up, walk slowly, and eat. Raising his arms too high or turning his head to a certain angle still hurt like a bitch.

He spent a concerning amount of his time naked. Every morning he was measured and weighed and given cream to prevent his skin from stretching as he grew. He would stand next to a six-foot pole and have his picture taken from the front, back, and side.

Then would come the testing. He had not developed enough to need physical therapy to accommodate a physique that had yet to arrive, but it seemed that the serum worked from the inside out. The kinks in his spine began to straighten themselves out, his lungs no longer needed the cigarettes to relieve inflammation that no longer occurred, and his bad hearing was slowly but surely restoring itself. Erskine and the other scientists were amazed at how much progress was being made after only three days. Despite the pain, Josh had never felt so good in his life.

Josh had also never been so hungry. That meant a lot, having grown up during the Depression. Luckily for him, however, he could eat as much as he wanted and it was encouraged that he did.

He was on his third bowl of stew and second plate of chicken when Agent Ryan appeared in the mess hall.

Josh wiped his mouth, hoping he didn't look too slovenly. He was growing, quickly, and all his clothes were several sizes too large in anticipation of his final size. It had been only three days and he had grown an inch and a half and gained ten pounds. He was also getting a lot more facial hair, and several cuts lined his cheeks when he tried to shave properly for the first time in his life.

"Hello, Joshua," the Agent said, sitting down on the seat across from him. He was suddenly very aware of the number of empty dishes stacked around him. He set down his spoon with great effort.

"Hello, Agent," he said, voice cracking.

"Debby, please."

Oh. That was new.

"Hello, Debby," he said, feeling how the name felt in his mouth. "Why are you here?"

"I'm just here to collect the reports on your progress. Mail's not secure enough."

Josh noticed the small stack of folders in her arms. "Oh. But you have them."

"I just want to know how you're feeling," she said. "I don't have the clearance to actually look at these files, after all."

"Oh," he said, and the sudden shock that came with realizing she cared about him came back. "I've been, uh, doing well. Really good, actually. I feel healthier. What about-- what about you?"

"I've had three cups of coffee this morning and I'm still exhausted," she said, red lips curling into a dry smile. "I think I should ask Erskine about getting serum of my own, if it's doing you so well."

"You're, uh. I think you're already perfect," he said before he could stop himself. He resisted the crawl under the table in shame. They were both professionals, they shouldn't be fraternizing. She was just being nice and he was just desperate.

Her smile was genuine, much to his surprise. He was transfixed by her fingers drumming on the table, the vibrations making tiny ripples in his glass of water. "Thank you, Joshua," she said. "I appreciate it."

"Just 'Josh'," he said. "Joshua's too formal."

"Well then, thank you, Josh."

Josh smiled, and his cheeks were still a little sore and it hurt but smiling at Agent Ryan--  _Debby_ , was a bit more important than that.

"Ah, I have to go," she said, getting up. "I hope I see you again soon, in better health."

"Me too," he said.

He slurped an ungodly amount of soup the moment she was gone.

 

Josh had to go back into the chamber by the end of the week. A part of him wanted to shrink away from the device after all the pain it caused him, but he swallowed it down and marched to it resolutely. Dr. Erskine had reassured him that the three remaining sessions would be much shorter: the first lasting five minutes at ninety percent, the second lasting four minutes at sixty percent, and the final session lasting three minutes at thirty percent. By then, he would no longer need the Vita-Rays to keep his growth in check.

He pushed the mouth guard between his teeth and laid down. He was starting to fill out a little more, and there was definitely less space available in the chamber this time around. He was just grateful that he didn't need any more injections.

Erskine controlled the Vita-Rays now, not Urie, and Josh watched his back from several feet away as he slowly increased the saturation. Josh wasn't sure if it was hurting less or if he was just getting used to it, but now, he could grit his teeth and bear it in silence as the machines around him hummed.

The lack of an audience made the procedure seem to go by quicker. Everything hurt, the same way it did when he first emerged from the chamber. His skin was also as horrifically dry as it was before. The chamber opened, and the technicians rushed to free him from his restrains and set him down into a wheelchair to immediately go to sleep. According to Dr. Erskine, certain phases of the sleep cycle encouraged growth. Josh wondered why he was so short if sleep was all he ever did as a kid.

 

He received a letter from Tyler halfway through the second week. He had always agonized over the mail taking so long, but he admitted that he had momentarily forgotten about Tyler while trapped inside this secret hospital. They were underground and had no radio signal, and he had no newspapers to read. His busy schedule full of pain and therapy filled his mind.

 

_Dear Josh,_

_After Port Moresby is secured, we're going to Rabaul. There's still plenty of stragglers in the jungles and it's no safer than it was a month ago._

_More of those strange weapons have been appearing. Most of my company is gone, but it's usually the fresh troops that get taken out by them now. The rest of us know to stay away. The IJA were already suicidal but now these new guns have just made them worse. Ten of them stormed into our camp while we were asleep a few days ago. They died, obviously, but not before taking out just as many of our own. It did leave us with ten HYDRA guns, and we screwed around with them before sending them back to America for study. I'm not so good with machines, but its power source is nothing like I've ever seen before. It's like something out of your fantasy novels._

_On a lighter note, someone put a big hairy spider in Toye's helmet this morning. It wasn't poisonous, but it sure did give him a scare. None of us have any idea who did it, but it was probably O'Hara. He makes mischief wherever he goes. Kinda like you._

_Are you still in training? How is your health holding up? All that exercise can't be good for your asthma. You're too loyal to quit, I know, but please just don't push yourself too hard. I want you to be in one piece when I see you again._

_From, Tyler_

 

Tyler was still holding up. He wasn't sure how much cheer Tyler was faking, but he wanted to believe that Tyler was doing well. He had always struggled with melancholy and hopefully the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers would be enough to keep his spirits up. He didn't want Tyler to suffer alone.

Josh also wanted to tell Tyler that he technically no longer had asthma, but that wasn't just something he could just say. He wanted to attach a photo of his now-5'6 self to him as well, but that, too, would risk national security. He would just have to make up some more stories about getting ready to ship out.

 

_Dear Tyler,_

_I'm doing very well, actually. All the exercise is doing me some good, I think. And I'm not pushing myself too hard. Training is almost over and I think we're gonna be shipped out soon. Maybe they'll make me stay behind and keep me as a desk worker, I don't know. I hope not._

_I've been hearing more about those weapons back at home. Apparently it's got something to do with an ancient relic that they're calling the Tesseract. Germany got ahold of it and are somehow using its energy to power weapons, which is pretty crazy._

_Good luck in Rabaul. Don't get vaporized._

_From, Josh_

 

Josh yawned and stretched his back, hearing it crack soundly. He slept an average of fourteen hours a day now, and lately, he had been needing more. He folded up the little V-card and set it on the nightstand next to his cot before pulling his sheets over his shoulders. He switched off his little lamp and flooded the room with darkness, eyes sliding shut as easy as you please.

* * *

 

There were many, many unfriendly eyes watching Abraham Erskine.


	5. Unrecoverable

**1943: May**

Josh didn't recognize himself in the mirror. In his head he knew that it was him, but where were his ribs? Where was the sunkenness of his cheeks, the slight rasp of his breath, the kink in his back? Where was the crick he got in his neck from looking up at people all day? He always did a double-take when he looked at himself in the mirror.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Matsudu?" a nurse asked, roving a stethoscope over his chest. "Breathe in."

Josh complied. "Taller," he said on the exhale.

 

"You've grown over half a foot in less than three weeks with no sign of slowing down."

"I know."

The nurse was a tall woman with a thick mane of black hair. He had barely come up to her shoulder on the first day, and now, on the day after his last Vita-Ray treatment, the top of her head just barely reached her chin.

"Alright, stand up, please."

Josh stumbled as he stood up. He used to need to hop down to make it to the floor, and his stomach swooped when the ground was much closer to his feet than it was three weeks ago. The nurse giggled and steadied him.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm still getting used to being big."

"That's what PT is for."

"Yeah," Josh said, walking to the scale. He weighed a hundred sixty pounds now, nearly twice the weight he was before. The numbers didn't seem real.

"You're free to go," the nurse said.

"Thanks."

Two military police were waiting outside the door of the exam room. His bare feet slapped against the cool linoleum as they strode forward in their boots, one man on each side.

The physical therapy room was at the end of the underground corridor. The large room was filled with assorted equipment intended to test his abilities and technicians working with machines to record his every move.

Dr. Erskine was sitting at a desk in a corner, poring over a stack of papers.

"I'm here to report," Josh said, fingers knitting nervously.

The doctor looked up, adjusting his glasses.

"Good morning, Joshua. Today's the big day."

Josh nodded. His head felt light as he thought of all the people coming to see him demonstrate his strength and prove to the government that Erskine's formula was worth pursuing.

"Don't worry," the doctor said. "There's no way you could disappoint them. Look at you."

Despite all his changes, he still felt small.

"I'm just the same guy I was before," he said.

"And that's why you'll make me proud."

* * *

A small group of people in smart business clothes appeared at nine thirty sharp, flanked by several soldiers. They chattered among themselves, and Josh could pick up every word with his enhanced hearing. He recognized the Secretary Hull, several top generals, Boyd Urie, and several other prominent figures. Debby Ryan was there too, watching front and center. His chest tightened, and for the first time in several weeks, his knees felt weak.

He knew Erskine was right, it was physically impossible for him to perform poorly, but the part of him that was still five-foot three and skinny as a twig still worried. Josh wondered if that part of him would ever go away.

He was instructed to complete his usual circuit, moving counterclockwise from station to station.

He started with the weights. He could take a hundred on each arm, easy, and the cold iron was little more than bales of straw as he managed to lift six hundred above his head. There was a smattering of applause and a few flashes of cameras from the technicians documenting his progress. His knees were strong and sure, but his eyes darted left and right.

He moved on to test his reflexes.

Then his flexibility.

Then his endurance.

He breathed with his new lungs, he lifted with his new arms, ran with his new legs. After a few minutes it was easy to forget the presence of all the others in the room when he ran, feet pounding as he reached twenty-five miles an hour, forty, fifty, holding that pace for the rest of his five-mile run.

His white shirt, which he had finally grown into, was soaked with sweat and he wiped his forehead as he came to a stop, taking a bottle of water from a technician and swallowing it down. He glanced towards the audience and saw nothing but impressed faces. He couldn't hide his smile when he caught Agent Ryan's eye off to the side.

"You've outdone yourself, Doctor," the Secretary Hull said, shaking Erskine's hand as Josh toweled off his face. "That Matsudu kid's really something. What are we gonna do about the whole Japanese thing, though? I mean, we're about to start a huge offensive against the Empire in a few weeks."

"Ethnicity does not beget loyalty, Secretary."

"Hmm. Well, either way, there's some folks in Berlin about to get very nervous. What's the secret ingredient, eh?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that. I keep the only copy on my person--"

The complex exploded.

Josh was close enough to the explosion that he felt the heat rush over his skin. The acrid stink of smoke and C4 filled the air, and he sat up, breathing hard as he looked at the destruction around him.

The explosion had not gone off in the crowd, but a few feet off to the side. Several people had been knocked to the ground.

Then came the gunshots.

There was a nondescript man in a black suit firing at the crowd with a small pistol. A spy.

Josh was strong enough to take him. He ran towards the man, anticipating the man to point his gun at him. Instead, he aimed towards Abraham Erskine and fired.

The old doctor crumpled to the ground, gasping like a landed fish. The spy grabbed a tiny notebook resting in his breast pocket, the arm holding his gun held stiffly out.

"Doctor Erskine!" he shouted, leaping over to the fallen doctor. 

He could hear more gunshots from the side, and he saw that Debby had had taken aim and fired at the spy, catching him in the arm. The man howled in pain but didn't slow down, racing up the stairs and out of the room.

In that moment, Josh didn't care about that man. Dr. Erskine, the first man who had ever shown faith in him, was dying. He kneeled over him, powerful heart beating hard enough to break free of his ribs.

"Doctor Erskine," he whispered, voice hoarse from the smoke.

"Go," the doctor rasped, a small stream of blood trickling from his lips. "Go. Keep my secret safe. Remember--"

He pointed at his chest.

Josh wiped the tears from his face and watched as Erskine breathed his last.

More gunshots rang out, and Josh was reminded of his mission at hand.

Agent Ryan was already chasing after the man, racing out the door, and Josh passed her quickly, trying to tackle the man when a series of gunshots forced him back.

The spy was exiting now, disappearing into the antique storefront. So he had been in the same facility this whole time.

He heard glass shatter and people shriek, and then the squealing of tires outdoors.

Josh squinted in the bright light as he raced outdoors. It was his first time outside in nearly a month, and the bright afternoon sun blinded him.

Gunshots. Agent Ryan was shooting at a black car driving away from them. She shot out both back tires, and the car crashed. Josh ran even faster, hoping to catch the man there.

The spy stole a taxi and sped away.

" _Goddammit_ ," he hissed behind gritted teeth as he picked up his pace. The spy was headed for Exposition Park.

Today was one of the few days Josh wished he lived in New York. Los Angeles's roads were twisted and knotted and clogged with cars, and they hindered him as much as they helped the spy in his taxi. Several times he crawled over cars, denting their hoods and breaking the glass of the windshields as he desperately chased after the car. He could hear police sirens starting to wail behind him.

Josh chased and chased, not taking his eyes off the bright yellow taxi. This was nothing like the laps on the tracks in the facility. This was dodging bullets and stepping on broken glass and burning his throat with how hard he was breathing. But exhaustion was no longer a factor. He kept up his pace, keeping a keen, careful eye on where the spy pointed his gun, watching him through the rearview mirror. He took a shot, and someone behind him screamed. Dear God.

They left Downtown, closer to Exposition Park and the USC campus. The roads were wider and straighter here, and the taxi sped away,

The car was finally sidelined by a produce truck right in front of the Rose Gardens. The taxi flipped and rolled down into the sunken garden. The passenger door was torn off, skidding across the ground, and Josh grabbed it from the lush grass to protect himself as the spy shot at him again and again until he ran out of bullets.

There was his chance.

Josh ran and tackled him into the wide fountain, holding the man by the collar as he shook him, water splashing.

"Who the hell are you?!" he demanded.

"The first of many. Cut off one head and two more shall take its place!"

The man grinned at him and Josh heard a crunch. White foam appeared at the corners of his lips.

"Hail Hydra," he whispered, going limp under his grip.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as the man died.

He couldn't just die and get away with it, easy as that. He dropped the man into shallow water, fists clenched so tight he felt his joints creak. His ears were filled with the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh breathing.

Wait. The notebook.

He searched the man's pockets. It was in his left outer pocket, soaked in the fountain water. Oh no.

Josh pulled it out, holding the soggy book between his thumb and forefinger. He inspected the pages, and much to his dismay, the ink had smeared and blotted, and Dr. Erskine's already-messy writing was rendered entirely illegible.

"Fuck," he said to no one. "Fuck!"

He sat down in the fountain, water soaking in his pants next to the corpse of the HYDRA spy. Red and blue lights flashed in the corners of his vision, and smoke from the overturned car filled his nose.

What a day.

* * *

**1941: June**

She died two days after he turned sixteen, asleep in her bed.

It wasn't fair.

Josh sat at the dining table with a pen and paper two days later. Even after withdrawing every last penny from the bank and leaving the apartment to get the deposit, there was still not enough for a proper funeral with a ceremony and a burial. She would have to be cremated, ashes scattered outside the city limits.

Josh got up from his seat with a frustrated growl and paced back and forth in the tiny apartment. He couldn't bear to think about money when his mother was dead. The cramped apartment was suffocating him. She had always been a quiet person, but her absence created a silence that Josh wanted nothing more but to fill.

He found himself wandering into their shared bedroom. The smell of sickness still hung in the air, no matter how many times he washed the sheets or how long Josh kept the windows open. There was her bed, from which the undertakers had come and taken the body away, as well as half of the money. Josh had never laid on a new mattress in his life, and the middle of her bed sagged where she used to lay. Josh sat down on it, even if it was crawling with disease, hearing the springs creak in protest. He stared across the room at his own bed, blankets rumpled from where he had left it unmade when he rose that morning.

He wondered how many nights his mother had stayed up late to watch him in the throes of a fever. He wondered how many nights he stayed up to watch her cough out her lungs. Too many times to be fair.

His hand brushed against her blanket. He pulled it over him and swaddled himself in it, skinny knees and elbows poking into his torso, warming up his clammy hands and feet. Even in June, he was cold. He rolled over and stared at the plain white wall.

The phone in the living room started ringing. He got out of his mother's bed with a sigh, taking her blanket with him.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Josh," he heard Tyler say. "We were wondering if you'd come over for dinner. You shouldn't be alone."

"I don't really want to come over today," Josh said.

That was only half true. He was aching for company, but something inside him worried that the apartment would disappear if he ever left it

"Have you been eating enough? You weren't last time I checked. You're wasting away."

Josh hadn't bought any new food in three days because one meal bought was money out of his mother's burial fund. The cupboards had been bare since Wednesday and he didn't want to infect the Yusefs' home with his grief.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to bring something?"

Josh thought about it. Tyler was extending his hand here and saying no would look ungrateful. And the Yusefs made delicious food.

"Please," he finally said.

"I'll-- I'll bring some food over," Tyler said, obviously surprised. "We're just a few streets away so it'll stay hot. Just wait right here."

"I will."

Josh hung up. He turned and sat down at the dining table, waiting for Tyler to arrive.

"Hey, Josh? You in there? I can't knock."

"I'm coming," Josh said, opening the door for Tyler, who was carrying a pot of something and a few loaves of flatbread tucked beneath his arms. Josh took the bread to help him out and fetched two bowls and a ladle from the kitchen, standing on the tips of his toes to reach them.

"Glad you could make it," Josh said as Tyler scooped hot stew into the bowls.

"It's nothing, really," Tyler said, passing a bowl to Josh. "I'm surprised you weren't too proud to let my mama feed you."

"Anything for her cooking," Josh joked. He breathed in the hot steam from the soup and tried not to sigh in pleasure. It smelled good.

They settled into their routine: Josh would dig in while Tyler would take a few moments to say grace to himself before he started.

The blanket around his shoulders warmed his outsides, but the first spoonful of soup was like a candle flame settling into his stomach, warm and tame and comforting. He bit back his voraciousness and ate slowly, trying to savor the warmth and flavor and not look too hungry. He tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in the thick stew.

Tyler was watching him eat, Josh knew. He had a bad habit of doing that, making sure he would be okay. He kept his head down and continued eating. If he made eye contact with Tyler, he'd ask him about what he could do to help like the good friend he was, and Josh knew the question would crush him.

The bowl was empty all too soon. He looked up and saw that Tyler was looking at his budget, which he had forgotten to hide. Tyler looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Oh, Josh," Tyler sighed. "Why didn't you tell us that you needed help with the funeral?"

"It's not your guys' responsibility to take care of this," Josh said. "Really, I'll be fine. I could-- I could take out out a loan or something, or get a job."

"You're sixteen, broke, and you're Japanese," Tyler reminded him. "Neither of those things are happening and you know it."

"You don't know that. I can do this myself, Tyler."

"Josh--"

" _No_ ," Josh snapped. "I won't let you. I don't need your guys' help or your pity. Can't I ever just handle something on my own!?"

It was his hunger, or his sadness, or maybe it was the headache he had for a few days now, but the anger that had boiled up out of some bitter part of him suddenly evaporated. He was left with teary eyes and a heartbroken Tyler. Shit.

"Tyler, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that," he said, voice cracking. He was a terrible friend.

"I know," Tyler said, still so kind. "It's been hard for you. It's okay."

Something about those words broke something inside him, and Josh dropped his spoon with a clatter and started sobbing. His tears soaked into the fabric of the blankets and splashed onto the wooden table.

"Hey, hey," Tyler said, using the same careful voice he used on stray kittens and his baby brother. "Josh, it's okay. Don't cry."

Josh wiped at his eyes, but even more tears came to replace them. Tyler got up from his seat and hugged Josh, warm arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close to his stomach. Josh rested his head against his sharp hip and let Tyler sway slowly. He let go of the blanket to wrap his arms around Tyler's waist. One of Tyler's hands came to rest on top of his head, gently carding through his curls and scratching softly as Josh cried.

They stayed like that, rocking in place as Tyler pet him. He could smell the soap of his shirt, the scent familiar after years of hugs. His crying slowly petered off.

"Feeling better?" Tyler asked.

Josh nodded. "Yeah. You can let go of me now."

"You're the one holding on to me, you know."

Josh let go. Tyler stared down at him, looking troubled.

"Is the state gonna take you away?" he asked.

Josh shook his head. "No. My dad's still alive and I'm too old to go to an orphanage anyways."

"I wouldn't let you go, if they did try."

"Thanks."

"Do you know where you're going to stay? Are you gonna keep coming to school?"

Josh shrugged. "Not really. I know I can't keep the apartment. The rent is too much. And I'll have to drop out if I want a job."

Tyler only hummed. Josh knew what Tyler was thinking about.

"I can't just _live_ with you, Tyler," he said.

"Why not? You're practically family anyways. You won't have to break your back or drop out or move."

"You guys'll get evicted for taking me in. That building is whites only. And did your parents say yes?"

"They're the ones that told me to come over and ask you. And the other tenants will understand. They have to. Just put on your sad face and there's no way they'll be able to resist."

"I'll think about it," Josh finally said. The idea of living with the Yusefs was tempting, but he had enough of their pity as it was. Mooching off for them for two years sounded like a nightmare. They were a large family and had enough mouths to feed as it was. Mr. Yusef made decent money as a teacher, but not enough to move into the suburbs like the other white families. They always acted like they had enough to spare for Josh, but Josh was willing to bet his left arm that they really didn't.

"You better."

Tyler started to gather up the dishes. "I can stick around for a little longer if you want."

"It's fine, thank you. I think I'm gonna try and head off for bed soon, anyways." Josh gathered the blanket from off the ground and bunched it on his lap as Tyler stacked the bowls on top of each other.

"Good idea. Do you want to go out tomorrow? Just to get your blood flowing."

"Maybe. Thanks for the food, by the way."

Tyler stood in the doorway, looking sadder than he had any right to be. "It's no problem, Josh. We've always got room for you."

"I know."

The door closed, and Tyler was gone.

  
Josh found a white envelope on the floor of the foyer the next morning. It must be a letter from the landlord. He opened it, and realized that he was wrong.

Twenty dollars stared up at him. Josh's hands shook as he took the money out and reverently set it on the kitchen countertop. It was just the amount he needed to bury his mother. There was no note, no name attached, but Josh knew exactly who it was.

A thousand emotions churned inside of him, and a tear stained the envelope in his hands. He sunk down until he was on the floor, burying his face in his hands and cursing the Yusefs for being so damn nice.

He was so grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Tyler's surname: Joseph is the Anglicized version of the Arabic surname 'Yusef'.


	6. Perform

**1943: September**

They took what felt like gallons of his blood in an effort to rediscover any trace of the serum. It had been a week since Erskine died, and two since his quiet funeral. Frankly, the man deserved a parade for his work.

He, Debby, and several other agents and high-ranking officials were seated around a table for a meeting. There was a strange weapon placed in the middle of it with a sleek silver design. Despite the strange materials and construction of the device, it was unmistakably gun-shaped. He thought of what Tyler said in one of his letter, about the mysterious guns from the Nazis that could vaporize men into nothing but ashes.

He was very glad that no one in the room knew how to operate it.

"I want answers, Senator Brandt," Colonel Phillips said. He was so busy imploring the politician that he had forgotten to take his hat off when he came inside. "How did that spy manage to infiltrate your top-secret facility? Riding in on a car sent under the President's orders himself?"

"We're looking into it, Colonel. He must have been a cell for over a decade if he had managed to get the clearance. But enough with that. We'll figure it out soon enough. We're here for another reason."

The Senator turned to look at Urie.

"You," he said. "What have we got here?"

"I don't know, sir," Urie said, taking out a folder and passing it across the table to him. The senator opened it and sifted through the papers, frowning. The men to his left and right glanced over his shoulders to see, curious.

"Speaking modestly, I'm the best mechanical engineer in the country. But what they have is miles beyond us."

"'They', Boyd?" the Senator asked.

"HYDRA," Debby said. "I'm sure you've looked at the briefings, sir."

"I'm on a number of committees, Agent. I'm a busy man."

"HYDRA is the Nazis' deep-science division," she said, "it's led by Johann Schmidt. But he has much bigger ambitions."

"HYDRA is practically a cult, more so than the rest of the Reich," Colonel Phillips added. "They worship Schmidt. They think he's invincible."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Senator Brandt asked.

"Well, I spoke to the President this morning. As of today, the SSR is being retasked."

"Excuse me, Colonel?" Debby asked.

"We're taking the fight to HYDRA. Pack your bags, Agent Ryan. You too, Urie. We're flying to London tonight."

The Colonel made no mention of Josh.

"Sir?" Josh asked. "Am I coming, too?"

Phillips shook his head. "You're still an experiment. You're going to Alamogordo."

Josh had no idea what or where Alamogordo was.

"But the serum worked," he insisted. "I think I could be useful."

"I asked for an army, Matsudu, and all I got was you. You're not enough."

The painful bite of his words sank its fangs deep into Josh's gut as the Colonel started discussing what Debby and Urie would be doing in London. He turned away and saw Senator Brandt studying him.

"With all due respect to the Colonel," Brandt began, "I think we may be missing the point."

Josh was surprised that the Senator was siding with him. Brandt reached over and clapped Josh on the shoulder.

"I've seen you in action, Joshua," he said. "More importantly, the country's seen it when you chased that spy down."

He reached down and took out his briefcase, rifling through it for a few seconds before producing a newspaper and handing it to Josh. 'MYSTERY MAN APPREHENDS NAZI SPY IN EXPOSITION PARK AFTER 5-MILE CHASE'.

"The enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands," Senator Brandt continued. There was a photo of him holding the taxi's door from when the spy was shooting at him. There was another, smaller picture further down the page of him tackling the man into the fountain.

By now, the rest of the table had fallen silent, all eyes on the Senator.

"You don't take a soldier, a symbol like that, and squirrel him away in a lab," he said to everyone. "Son, do you want to serve your country on the most important battlefield of the war?"

"Please," he said.

"Then congratulations," he said. "You just got promoted."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at the Senator.

* * *

Of course Senator Brandt wasn't telling the whole truth. Josh was an idiot to take his words at face value. He was a politician, a good one at that, and good politicians were never honest.

Josh stood backstage, hands clammy and stomach sour as he prepared to perform. He had rehearsed, and he did well, but practicing in a largely empty room was nothing compared to the real deal.

"I don't know if I can do this," he admitted to his agent. He could hear the clamoring of the audience behind the heavy curtain as they waited for the show to start. He was sweating through his suit, his stupid Spandex suit that made him look like a star-spangled Christmas elf.

"Nothing to it," his agent said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Josh flinched. "You sell a few bonds. Bonds buy bullets. Bullets kill Nazis. Bing-bam-boom, you're an American hero."

"This isn't really what I had in mind."

His agent shrugged. "Well, the Senator has got a lot of people to pull up on the Hill," he said. "If you play ball with us, you'll be leading your own platoon in no time."

He handed Josh his mask. It was made of scratchy wool and blocked his vision.

"Now take the shield."

He handed Josh the shield and shoved him onto the stage before he could complain again.

He was blinded by the bright lights and the swirling of the showgirls' striped skirts. The theater was packed, though the audience's faces were largely hidden by the lighting. Josh was grateful. If he could see them all, he'd faint for the first time since he received the serum, and he was pretty sure that the American public didn't consider fainting to be very heroic.

 _"Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way?"_  the showgirls sang, getting into formation around him and marching in place.

It was his turn to speak. His lines were taped to the inside of his prop shield.

"Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank," he began. He was glad that he at least had the shield to hide most of himself from the audience. He wasn't sure if the weakness in his knees was visible, but he wasn't going to let the cameramen see him shake in his boots like a newborn foal.

 _"Who vows to fight like a man, for what's right, night and day?"_  the showgirls sang.

"Series E Defense Bonds," he continued. Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."

_"Who will campaign door-to-door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane, the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!"_

The women moved in formation around Josh, who stood in place, trying to look determined and confident.

_"Who'll tie a noose 'round the goose-stepping goons from Berlin? Who will redeem, heed the call for America? Who'll rise or fall, give his all for America? Who's here to prove that we can? The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!"_

"We all know this is about trying to win the war," he said. "And we can't do that without bullets and bandages, tanks and tents. That's where you come in. Every bond you buy will help protect someone you love. Keep our boys armed and ready, and the Germans will think twice about trying to get the drop on us."

Two men burst through the lines of showgirls, dressed as Hitler and Hideki. He dodged their swings at him, dramatic as he leapt out of the way and used his wooden shield to block them. Finally, he faked a swing across both their faces, knocking them to the ground in a single blow with a crash of the cymbals. 

_"Stalwart and steady and true, forceful and ready to defend, the red, white, and blue! Who'll give the Axis the sack and is smart as a fox? Far as an eagle will soar. Who's making Adolf afraid to step out of his box? He knows what we're fighting for! Who woke the giant that napped in America? We know it's no one but Captain America! Who'll finish what they began? Who'll kick the Nips back to Japan? The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!"_

There was a hearty round of applause as the orchestra finished with a flourish. Josh forced a grin and waved at them, grateful that he didn't screw up too badly.

* * *

**October**

Tyler's letters stopped coming. Josh wasn't next of kin and was never told of his status. He called the Yusefs to ask what had happened to him. MIA, they said, captured by Japanese forces.

Josh's heart sank when he heard. He heard what happened to POWs in Japan. For a horrible moment, he wondered if Tyler would have been better off killed. 

He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He was a  _hero_  now, one with a show in less than ten minutes. He was doing good work, his agent said. He made the Army millions as Captain America. He could make enough money to fund a rescue mission.

Josh was very tempted to punch the man in his oily face when he heard that. But he swallowed down the lump in his throat, thanked the Yusefs, hung up, and soldiered on.

* * *

**November**

Josh was a very busy man now: filming commercials where he pretended to command a company fighting in Europe, traveling from city to city to knock out Hitler and Hideki (they were very nice men offstage), kissing hands and shaking babies, not cursing in public, getting used to being handsome.

Josh was a very different man now: he was Joshua William Dun, born and raised in the all-American city of Columbus, Ohio, with a mother and father named Bill and Kelly and three little brothers and sisters. Not a drop of Jap blood in him. They sliced and stretched his eyelids to fix their peculiar shape; they told him he was far more expressive and honest-looking without their slant, and what couldn't be ironed out by the surgeons was passed off as a trick of the light and his helmet. His curly hair was bleached a light, mousy brown, not the glistening black of a foreigner. He let them do this.

Josh was a very miserable man now.

They sent him overseas to Italy early in November, just a few miles off the front lines. Frankly, Josh had no idea what he was doing here. Boosting morale? He was pretty sure the weary soldiers wouldn't appreciate the campy performance or the Nylon. (Or maybe they'd like the Nylon. Who knows?)

Josh stood on the improvised stage. The wood was weak and starting to rot, and Josh was very aware of the way it creaked beneath his feet every time he took a step.

He pressed his lips to the microphone.

"How many of you are ready to help me sock old Adolf on the jaw?" he asked.

There was silence.

"Okay," he began. He had performed enough that he could handle an uncooperative audience now. He could cheer them up.

"Uh, I need a volunteer," he said, and he resisted the urge to cringe at how his voice cracked.

"I already volunteered!" someone from the back shouted. "How the hell do you think I got here?!"

Some of the soldiers laughed.

"Bring back the girls!" he shouted again, and cheers raised up all around.

"I think they only know the one song," he said, figuring that doing what the soldiers wanted would be the best option for all of them. "But, uh, let me see what I can do."

"You do that, sweetheart!" the same heckler said.

"Nice boots, Tinkerbell!" another called, getting him a few whistles and jeers.

So they didn't like his Nylon.

"Come on, guys," he said. "We're all on the same team here."

"Hey, Captain!" someone shouted. "Sign this!"

And then the man turned and pulled down his pants. Ah.

"Bring back the girls!"

The women ran back onstage, and the whole audience cheered. Josh slipped offstage among the flurry, heaving a sigh and pulling off his mask as he ducked into the wings.

His agent was immediately by his side. "Don't worry, pal," he said, giving him a thin smile. "They'll warm up to you eventually."

"Yeah. I hope they do."

If there was one upside to being booed off stage, it was the fact that he finally had some time to himself to mope. The show ended some time later and he sat on the edge of the now-empty stage, staring out at the rain that had begun to fall some time after the soldiers had dispersed an hour ago. He was wrapped in his brown leather coat, half to keep him warm and half to keep the garish colors of his suit from showing. It was a little embarrassing in such a grungy place.

"Hello, Josh."

Josh whipped around. There was Debby.

"Hi," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Officially, I'm not here at all," she said, winking. "That was quite a performance you gave."

Josh flushed. He was sorry that she had to see that disaster. "Yeah," he said, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Uh. I had to improvise. Most crowds I'm in front of are usually a bit more-- a bit more chipper. And twelve."

She laughed. "I understand you're 'America's New Hope'?"

Josh nodded. "Bond sales increase by ten percent in every state I visit."

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?" she teased.

"A bit, yeah," Josh said, shrugging. "At least I'm doing something. Colonel Phillips would have stuck me in a lab."

"Are those your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know."

Josh was surprised to hear Debby say this.

"You know," he said, "I've always dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Fighting for my country. I guess I got what I wanted, even if I'm doing it in tights."

An ambulance wailed as it entered the camp, laden with wounded soldiers. Josh watched, throat tight as he watched the wounded men be unloaded and added to the medical bay. They were covered in blood, ragged and limp like broken, worn out dolls mauled by a careless child.

"Those guys look like they've been through hell," he muttered.

"These men more than most," Debby said. "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained all that was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured and taken to HYDRA's prisons."

Josh thought about Tyler. It had been two months since he had been captured and there was no word of a prisoner exchange or a rescue mission. It seemed that he had simply been forgotten. Guilt, hot and shameful, bubbled up inside him and clawed at his throat. What was he _doing?_

_You were meant for more than this._

_You don't have to be a perfect soldier. Just a good man._

_Shoot those bastards down for me, would you?_

Josh stood up, a determined set to his jaw. He marched off in the rain, straight for Colonel Phillips's tent.

"Josh! Where are you going?" Debby called.

Josh didn't turn around. "Come on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, whitewashing Asians, America's favorite activity since the invention of cinema. But seriously, there's no way they would have let Captain America be Japanese, not then, not today. But Erskine already made his choice, so the rest of them would just have to Deal With It.


	7. Rescue

Josh marched up to the Colonel.

"Colonel Phillips?" 

Phillips looked up from his paperwork.

 

"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan," he said. "What is your plan today?"

Josh didn't have time for jokes. "Could you show me the casualty list from Azzano, sir?" 

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "You don't get to give me orders, son." Then he pointed at Debby. "You and I are going to have a conversation later that you aren't going to enjoy."

He winced inside. He didn't want Debby getting mixed up in this. "Well, uh, were you planning a rescue mission or prisoner exchange of any kind?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's called 'winning the war'."

Josh bit his lip. He hated how flippant the Colonel was towards him. "But if you know where they are," he began, "then why can't we--"

"They're thirty miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save."

Colonel Phillips made some vague gestures at the map hanging behind his head, covered with tacks. Josh got the feeling that they said this about every captured unit, and his stomach curled at the thought of those prisoners knowing they had been abandoned.

"But," the Colonel sighed, "I don't expect you to understand any of this because you're a chorus girl."

So he  _was_  still bitter about not keeping Josh in a lab.

"I do understand," he said, trying not to feel too hurt at the Colonel's condescending words. He thought he had left that behind after taking the serum, but it seemed that a new body didn't change much after all. "But I'm sorry for bothering you."

"If you're sorry, go and understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you've got someplace to be in thirty minutes."

Josh studied the map pinned behind Phillips's desk, noting their position against HYDRA's. Hmm.

"I do, sir," he said.

He slipped out of the tent and headed back for his stage.

 

Debby watched Josh as he gathered his clothes from the tent set up behind the stage. 

"Josh, what are you doing?" she asked above the rush of the rain. "You're not  _walking_  to Austria, are you?"

"I will, if that's what I need to do," he said, grabbing a showgirl's helmet. It wasn't exactly up to military standard, but it would offer much more protection than his woolen mask and looked a lot less stupid. 

"You heard Phillips. There's no helping those men. Don't do this because you feel guilty about your friends' capture."

"It's not guilt, it's empathy. I joined the army to help people, and I think-- I think war's about saving lives as much as it is ending them."

"He's still planning a solution," Debby said. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but you going out there could ruin it."

Josh grabbed a knapsack and gathered a compass, a pencil, an empty canteen, and a flashlight. The tiny kernel of reason embedded in the back of his mind told him he didn't have a real plan, that his emotions were just going to get himself blown up for nothing, but the rest of him, the part of him that felt the power of his new body and the fury at the Colonel's apathy and the chaos of his still-ragged grief and guilt at Tyler's capture was so much stronger. He could only acknowledge the wiser option in passing and continue down his path.

"Didn't you hear him?" he said, losing patience with himself. "He isn't. It would be too late for them by the time we win."

"There's a million more soldiers out there who have been captured by both Germany and Japan. Are you risking it all just for these men?"

Josh slipped on his leather jacket. "Yeah, I am." 

He took his helmet, his shield, and map and ran out of the tent, Debby scampering after him. The mud was slippery and his boots nearly lost traction as he jogged towards a stray jeep. He didn't know how to drive, but he figured it should be simple enough.

Debby caught up with him as Josh was loading up. He turned and saw the particular set to her jaw that meant that Josh wasn't going to leave until she was satisfied with his answer.

"This isn't your battle, Josh," she said. "You can't save everyone."

She was right, but Josh wanted what he wanted.

"You told me that you thought I was meant for more than just performing. Did you really mean it?" he asked. He didn't want to argue with her, he hated doing it, but she was important enough to him to hear his reasons and he knew he got her when her lips tightened at his response.

"Every word," she said, her face pinched like the words pained her.

"Then you have to let me go," he said, something inside him softening at the sight of her unhappiness. "I'm not the same person you met before. I'm strong enough now, you know I can't get hurt. I can _do_ it."

"That's not why I'm worried," she said. "You haven't changed, not where it matters the most."

Josh didn't know what to say to that. He got in the jeep and pulled the keys from the glove box, about to start the engine when Debby's hand on his arm stopped him. He looked at her, confused.

"I know I can't stop you," she said. "So let me help you."

 

Josh really wasn't surprised that Urie owned a plane. Of course he did, and of course he was willing to let him and Debby borrow it for the evening when they snuck out of the base. They flew under the cover of night over the thick forest that covered the countryside.

Inside the plane, Josh and Debby were going over their strategy as Boyd piloted.

"The HYDRA camp is in Krausberg, right in between these two mountain ranges," she said, pointing at Josh's map. "It's a factory of some kind."

Josh was preparing to jump from the plane, adjusting the straps of his parachute and securing the goggles on his head.

"We should be able to drop you right on their doorstep," Boyd called from the cockpit.

"Just get me as close as you can without risking yourselves. You guys are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land, you know."

"You will, too," Debby said.

Josh shrugged. "If anybody yells at me over here, I can just shoot 'em."

He loaded a pistol into a side holster. 

"And they'll shoot back," she countered.

"I'll be okay," he said. He had a shield and she knew it, even if the damn thing was made of tin and barely thicker than the lid of a can. His lines were still taped to the inside, a comfort.

"This is your transponder," Debby said, changing the subject. "Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us to you."

She handed him a small metal box about the size of a flask. Josh studied it, seeing the little button at the top.

"Are you sure this thing works?" he asked.

"It's been tested more than you, pal," Boyd answered from the front.

A flicker of light passed the windows, and a few seconds later, something hit the plane and the cabin rocked, sending a wave of nausea through his stomach, half nerves, half motion sickness. They had been spotted.

Flying all the way to the drop point was obviously no longer an option. He got up to open the door.

"Get back here!" Debby shouted. "We're taking you all the way in!"

Josh ignored her and opened the door, watching the way the anti-aircraft artillery exploded mid-air like fireworks. Wind whipped across his face and whistled in his ears.

"Get out of here as soon as I'm down!" he said, having to shout over the rush of the wind.

"You can't give me orders!"

"Yes I can! I'm a Captain!"

He pulled on his goggles, took a deep breath, and jumped from the plane.

 

The cold November air whipped past his face, stomach heavy like a stone as he fell, artillery barely missing his body. He had not been trained to be a paratrooper, and after this, he wasn't ever going to volunteer to be one. 

He deployed his parachute and slowed his fall, sinking into the trees undetected. He could hear the airplane buzzing above him like an enormous insect, turning around and heading back the way it came. So they did listen to him. The shooting stopped a few seconds after, assuming their assailant had left.

Josh darted swiftly and silently through the trees, the fog obscuring him from HYDRA, and HYDRA from him. He kept his shield on his arm, just in case. The entire forest was silent save for the very faint crunching of his feet on the dead pine needles. It was a ten-mile run between the mountains to reach the base in Krausberg, but he didn't become tired or thirsty or tight-chested the entire time as he followed a small paved road. He ran and he ran and he ran, driven forward by the knowledge that this is what he should have been doing this entire time.

He found the camp after an hour. It was much larger than he had expected. The large concrete building was surrounded by a ten-foot fence with five rows of barbed wire, electricity coursing through it, and several search towers erected every thirty feet, casting beams of harsh white light over the surrounding area. He could see guards behind the fence marching back and forth, and several more posted at the entrance points. The building itself was a fortress of concrete. 

He obviously couldn't just walk in. 

The sound of motors in the distance had him ducking behind a bush. Several motorcycles and a dozen large trucks trundled past. Perfect.

He chased after the last truck, leaping into the open back. 

Two guards were inside, staring at him.

"Hi," he said.

They were unconscious and tossed unceremoniously from the back of the truck moments later. This whole super-strength thing was really coming in handy. 

He made it into the base without a hitch. The guard sent to inspect his truck was easily dispatched by bashing his face in with his shield, knocking him several feet back with a pained grunt. The guard's helmet left a head-shaped indent in the center. No one had noticed. The helmets the soldiers wore must obscure the hearing and vision terribly, and Josh was fast and quiet.

Josh slipped silently from the back of the truck and headed for the main building. 

He entered through a quiet side door. Most of the hallways were entirely empty, probably due to the late hour. Josh was grateful, because knocking people out was a terrifying process, as easy as it was. If one of them shouted too loudly when he punched their lights out, he would be found and then Debby would be fired for letting Captain America try to execute a solo rescue mission.

Josh wandered from hall to hall. He had no idea where he was, and all the signs were in German, making him curse his school for forcing French on him. He peeked into any windows he found. Most were darkened and invisible to him, but after several minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for. 

The production floor was enormous, and was so high it didn't seem to have a ceiling. He could see people, probably prisoners, working on assembly lines, putting together weapons of a similar caliber as the one he had seen during his meeting following Erskine's death. There were new designs he had never seen before, larger and more menacing. He had no idea what those things could do, and he wouldn't ever find out, if he could help it.

The door was locked by an entry key. He didn't know the code. Breaking in would cause a scene, and it wasn't like he could just knock and see if someone answered. 

Wait. Maybe he could.

He rapped on the door, watching as one of the guards broke formation to answer. He waited until he opened the door just a crack, peeking his head through, before he slammed the door on his head, wedging his skull between the wall and the door and punching him while he was still trapped there. The man let out a wheeze and fell limp as easy as anything. Josh dragged him into a quiet corner and left him there. Hopefully he wouldn't wake up anytime soon. Assuming Josh hadn't killed him.

Josh slipped inside, feet making no sound as he hid in between large crates of weapons, waiting for the workers to look away before he darted forward. He hid in between a forest of enormous missiles, spotting a table crowded with tiny devices that glowed blue. Maybe he should take one to bring back for study or use as a weapon. 

There was a door off to one side through which tired workers were marched out and fresh ones marched in. He studied the faces of the prisoners and recognized many as Americans. The prison must be somewhere in there. It took several minutes of waiting before the shifting prisoners were gone and he was able to dart in, following the sound of their boots on the cement floor to their holding cells.

The prison was kept further underground. The air here was dank and began smelling odd, like sweat and sickness and unwashed bodies. He watched from around a corner as the prisoners were returned to their cells, nine by nine rooms that held five each, horrendously overcrowded. Disgust coiled in Josh's gut at the poor conditions. 

There were fewer guards patrolling the halls here. It was obvious that these captives had their fight beaten out of them long ago if the way they hung their heads was any indication. He sprung forward and wrapped his arm around the neck of the first one, counting to thirty as he pressed at the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse fluttering beneath his grip as the man lost consciousness. He set him on the ground and took out guard after guard and stole their keys, the prisoners watching in stunned silence.

The fifth and last guard was unconscious, and that was when the first prisoner dared to speak.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm-- I'm Captain America."

"I beg your pardon?" another asked.

"Don't ask me," Josh said, yanking the keys free from the unconscious guard. "I didn't get to pick the name."

Each cell was marked with a letter and a number, and each key was etched with the corresponding designation. There were was a terrifying amount of men who had been captured from all over the world, some obviously imprisoned longer than others. He passed the other rings to the freed inmates to speed up the process, and all two hundred and fifty-so soldiers were freed in less than five minutes.

"Is there anyone else in here?" Josh asked.

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it," one said. "Not sure how many are in there, but it's worth a check."

That was one more place he'd have to visit. The soldiers that were out now, however, needed to leave as soon as possible.

"Okay, guys," Josh said, walking ahead to get their attention. Two hundred and fifty pairs of eyes met his, but he resisted the urge to wither. "The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out as fast as you can and you'll surprise them. I'll catch up to you in the clearing with anybody else I find." 

"Wait," one said, stopping Josh in his tracks. "You know what you're doing, right?"

"Uh-huh," Josh said. "I've knocked out both Adolf Hitler and Tojo Hideki over two hundred times." 

The men looked at each other, dubious, but Josh figured the men needed to be on their toes and left without explaining.

Josh darted through the halls, hearing the sound of the freed men's feet pounding on the ground as they rushed to freedom. He heard shouting, then alarms, and the hallways were suddenly dark and empty. The guards had all been sent to stop the prisoners and the lights shut off, leaving Josh free to explore the facility unbridled.

There was nothing on this floor. He went up a level and began to explore. He heard explosions in the distance. Those men clearly knew how to handle themselves.

He turned a corner and saw someone at the end of the hallway, short and fat and carrying what appeared to be a briefcase. A scientist? The little man darted away, and Josh began to give chase when his keen hearing heard a voice, an American one, from the room to his left.

"Sergeant. Two-one-four-zero..." 

Was this the isolation ward?

Josh went inside. This room had no door or windows, lit only by emergency lights nestled along the floor. He poked his way through the low light, searching for the captured soldier.

He saw a large shape at the end of the long room. That must be the soldier. He rushed closer, and the shape turned out to be an examination table with a mumbling body strapped onto it.

"Sergeant. Two-one-four-zero-one."

He stood over the soldier on the table, peering through the dim light to see the man's face, making out the silhouette of his features.

The man spoke his rank and number again, and his voice was... familiar. 

"Sergeant. Two-one-four-zero-one."

The man's eyes slid open, and Josh's mouth went dry.

"Tyler?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyler's back!!!!


	8. Faith

"Oh my God."

It was Tyler. Without a doubt, it was him. It was his eyes (though tired), his nose (though bloody), his frame (though atrophied), his voice (though raspy). Josh tore the straps from their posts like they were string, desperate to free him. There were all sorts of bizarre and terrifying pieces of equipment surrounding them and Josh could only imagine what Tyler had been going through. Tyler lolled his head and stared up at him, eyes unfocused.

"Are you..." he mumbled.

"It's me," Josh said, immediately stopping his work so he could look Tyler in the eye. "Tyler, It's Josh."

Tyler blinked, brow crinkling in confusion. "Josh?"

"Come on," Josh said, pulling him up, "We're in a hurry. Let's go."

Tyler had some difficulty standing on his own. He grabbed Josh's arms to steady himself, and Josh could feel his hands shaking as he wobbled. He was much lighter than Josh remembered him being, and he wasn't sure if that was because of his new strength or Tyler's poor condition. He reached out and rested his hand on the crook of Tyler's neck, trying to comfort him as he stared at Josh, a small, dopey smile on his face. There was a strange, salty-sweet smell clinging to the dampness of his skin, like sickness and pus and iodine.

"I thought you were smaller," Tyler said. 

"I thought you were in Japan," Josh said.

Josh spotted two maps out of the corner of his eye: one of Europe and one of Asia. He studied it, and tried to memorize the placement of the little HYDRA triangles. That must be where their bases were.

There was the sound of more explosions outside, closer this time, and Josh realized they were running out of time.

"We have to go now, Tyler," he said, draping Tyler's left arm around his shoulders, half-guiding, half-carrying him.

"What happened to you?" Tyler asked as Josh dragged him down the hallway. Tyler's footsteps were sluggish, and Josh was honestly considering hoisting him over his shoulder so they could move faster.

"Um, I joined the Army," was all Josh said.

"Wow. They should've let you in earlier. Is it permanent?" he asked.

"So far, yeah."

Tyler stumbled again, and Josh caught the way his face crumpled in pain. He had no idea what they had done to him in that ward, but he was obviously in too much pain to walk. He stopped, picking up Tyler and running now, careful not to jostle him too much. 

"My hero," he sighed, and Josh wasn't sure if he was saying that to be funny or not.

They made it to the assembly room just as it exploded.

It wasn't the work of the liberated soldiers, that much he knew. They were long gone. The base must have some sort of self-destruct mechanism in case something exactly like this happened. Fun.

The exit was a few stories up, and together, Josh climbed the stairs to the catwalk.

A voice boomed above all the fire below.

"Captain America!"

Josh's eyes landed on a man on the other side of the catwalk, waiting for the elevator with the small man he had seen in the hallway. He was dressed in the standard doeskin uniform of a Nazi officer, swastika emblazoned on his arm. Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull.

"I am a great fan of your films!" Schmidt shouted, stepping away from the elevator to get closer to them. Josh set Tyler down, resting a hand on his shoulder, a silent plea to stay where he was.

Schmidt stepped closer. Josh followed suit, prepared to meet him in the middle. He'd have to get through him to escape and this was the perfect opportunity to take him down. His fingers burned from how hot the railing had become.

"So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all," he said, and Josh could see how red his face was, skin hairless and wrinkled and peeling like a horrible sunburn. "Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."

Josh reached for his pistol slowly, behind his back. He just wanted a fast fight.

"I'm definitely an improvement," Josh said, and drew his weapon, about to pull the trigger.

Schmidt reacted even faster than Josh, swatting the gun out of his hands with exceptional force, hard enough for him to cry out in pain as the gun clattered off the bridge and into the fire. He swung with his other hand, and Josh barely managed to raise his shield just in time. Schmidt's knuckles left an indent in the metal.

Schmidt surged forward again, but Josh rammed his shield forward and managed to send him tumbling back several feet.

The little man, who had been watching the struggle, pulled a lever that retracted the catwalk, separating the two men. Tyler reached out and grabbed Josh's arm, tugging him back to the safety of their own side.

"Erskine lied to you! I was his greatest success!" he shouted from the other side. "You are deluded,  _Captain_. You pretend to be a simple soldier with tainted blood but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind!"

Schmidt turned away now. The elevator was here. "And unlike you," he continued, "I embrace it proudly!"

"Then how come you're running?" Josh shouted after him, voice hoarse from the smoke.

Johann didn't answer. The doors slid shut and the two men disappeared, leaving them alone in the burning building.

More explosions wracked the building, and Josh realized that he would need to think quick if they wanted to make it out alive.

He looked around. Up above, there was a third level, and a metal beam.

"Okay!" Josh said, returning to the stairs. "Let's go. Up."

He looped his arm around Tyler's chest and hoisted him up the stairs.

The beam had been loosened from the explosions, and there was a high chance that it would simple collapse on them. But it was the only way out.

"Okay," Josh said. "One at a time. Crawl across, Tyler."

Tyler crawled over the railing and lowered his body until he was flush against the beam, inching forward like a caterpillar, gingerly touching the hot beam. The beam groaned and sank a few inches, and Josh's heart leaped into his throat. Tyler picked up the pace now, scrambling forward and leaping up to grab the railing of the other side just as the beam screeched and collapsed into the flames.

They stared at each other from across the building.

"There's gotta be a-- a rope or something!" Tyler shouted.

"Just go!" Josh said. All that mattered was Tyler. "Get out of here!"

"No! Not without you!"

Josh's heart hurt.

"Shit, okay," Josh sighed, looking for a way across. The railing on his side had broken. Maybe he could just jump. He didn't have any other options.

Fuck it, he was gonna jump.

Josh grabbed the broken rail and bent it outward so it would stay out of the way. Another explosion rocked the building, and Josh knew it wasn't going to hold for long. He raced backwards to build momentum, staring at the great distance between each side.

His eyes met Tyler's. Time slowed, and he saw the glisten of his eyes.

He ran forward, and he ran forward, and he jumped, fire leaping up to embrace him as he soared across the chasm.

* * *

Colonel Phillips dictated a message to a Corporal working at a typewriter.

"Senator Brandt, I regret to inform you that Captain Joshua W. Dun went missing behind enemy lines on the third. Aerial reconnaissance has proven unfruitful. As a result, I must declare Captain Dun killed in action. Period."

Agent Ryan entered the tent with a small stack of photographs.

"The last surveillance flight is back," she said, handing the pictures to the Colonel. "No sign of activity."

The Colonel looked over the photos. There was nothing but the wreckage of the bombed-out base and the trees. They must have died inside while trying to escape the facility when the self-destruct went off.

"Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal," Phillips ordered. He didn't have enough energy for this.

"Yes sir."

The young man scrambled out of the tent.

Colonel Phillips sighed. He hadn't slept well that night. Captain America's death would be on his hands if he didn't find someone to blame.

"I can't touch Urie," he mused. "He's rich and he's the Army's number one weapons contractor."

He turned to Agent Ryan, who stood stiffly. She knew this was coming.

"You are neither of those," he said.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't regret my actions," she said, glancing over at him nervously. "And I don't think Captain Dun did, either."

"What makes you think I give a damn about your opinions, Ryan?" he snapped. "I took a chance with you. And now America's golden boy and a lot of other good men are dead because you had a  _crush_."

Dun was a good man, gentle and compassionate and always, always wanting to do the right thing. He had a wisdom and self-awareness that was so unusual for someone of his young age. Yes, she liked him. How could she not? But it wasn't just a matter of admiration. It was a matter of moral necessity. He had the strength, the intelligence, the conscious, to rescue those soldiers that the rest of the world was ready to write them off as a lost cause. Of course she would help him.

"It wasn't that," she said. "I had faith."

"Well, I hope that's a big comfort to you when they shut this division down."

The corporal returned with his coffee. The Colonel took it and drank, and was about to return to dictating his letter when he heard a commotion in the northern side of the camp.

"What the hell's going on out there?" he asked, leaving the tent. Debby followed.

Neither had been expecting the sight before them. Josh was back, leading an enormous gaggle of captured soldiers, from the 107th and others. Several of them were hitching a ride on a goddamn _tank_.

The soldiers gathered around parted to the side and cheered as the freed men returned like a parade, caps flying in the air, liberated soldiers waving and grinning.

Josh came to a stop in front of the Colonel. He saluted.

"Sir. Some of these men need medical attention," he said. "And, uh, I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

Phillips raised his brows. He really thought he was going to punish him after this? "That won't be necessary."

A large grin broke out over his face. "Yes, sir."

The Colonel turned to look at Debby. Her grin was just as large as Josh's.

"Faith, huh?"

Debby nodded as he left and turned to Josh.

"You're late," she scolded.

Josh held up his transponder, which had been rendered useless by a stray bullet. "I couldn't call my ride."

The haggard-looking man at his side turned to the other men at the camp.

"Hey!" he shouted. "That's my best friend! Let's hear it for Captain America!"

Another round of cheers erupted from the crowd. Josh blushed and covered his face when the man draped an arm around his shoulders and shook him joyfully.

* * *

Tyler was hurt, but had still insisted that he walk all the way back to camp by his side like the stubborn, clingy idiot he had always been. Josh might not have been able to make Tyler ride on the tank, but he was able to drag him to the medic's tent as soon as the other soldiers would leave them alone.

"Josh, I'm fine," Tyler said, though he hadn't moved to leave the cot. "There's a bunch of other guys that need a bed--"

Josh shook his head, leaning forward on his stool.

"You're really not. Seriously, you're starting to sound like me. Those guys with you said that no one ever came back from that place. You were in there for how long?"

"Just a few weeks."

"I really think this is more than just a 'just'. You look half dead."  

Tyler had been stripped of his shirt, and Josh could see the ugly wounds that littered his skin. The long bruises striping his body matched up with the leather straps that had bound him to the table, a testament to how much pain he must have been in. Several other bruises were hand-shaped, mostly concentrated around his arms and throat. His wrists were dotted with festering injection points, and he looked as skinny as Josh once did. Even the little tattoo on his arm, the one Tyler said he got in Manila, looked dull.

"I know I do," Tyler said. "I have pneumonia."

"What?!"

"That's why they started experimenting on me. That's what they did to the people who couldn't work anymore."

"What did they do to you? And what were you working on?"

"Building planes. And the doctor said something about a serum. That's what you got, right? Or was it just three square meals a day?"

_Serum_. Josh thought back to the spy in the fountain. Was HYDRA trying to recreate the serum on their own?

"Wait, what did they use?"

"Blood. From their leader, Schmidt." Tyler's face wrinkled with disgust. "His blood was like poison, or-- or something. My whole body felt like it was burning after I got the transfusions."

"I know the feeling."

"How long did it take for you?"

"Uh, almost a month. We didn't use anyone's blood."

"Well, then that means it'll be a while before we find out if it worked or not. Hey, will I get any taller? I'd be seven feet tall if I got what you did."

"I hope not. I like being able to look you in the eye."

"I'm gonna miss being able to use your head as an armrest."

"Did they give you Vita-Rays?" Josh asked.

"Vita-what?"

"You go inside this thing that looks like an iron lung, and they give you radiation so the serum would stabilize and control the pain. I guess you didn't get them, then."

"Definitely not, then."

Oh. Josh's joints ached at the thought. Tyler sighed and shut his eyes, sagging even further into the cot. 

"I'm really sorry, Tyler," he said.

Tyler's eyes moved beneath his lids. "For what?" 

"Just. Everything. 

"I forgive you for not listening to me about joining. The rest wasn't your fault."

"Pfft. Thanks."

Josh got up from his stool and tucked it back where he found it, stopping at the tent's exit. "I have to go talk to the Colonel now," he said. "I have some things for him. He'll probably want to talk to you later, too, for intelligence."

"You do that. I'm gonna get some shut-eye. Oh-- wait."

Josh stopped and turned around. Tyler's eyes were open now, looking straight at him.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," he said. "I didn't think I was gonna survive that, if I'm gonna be honest. More than anything, I was worried about you."

Josh's throat tightened at Tyler's words. 

"But you seem to be doing just fine now," Tyler chuckled.

"Yeah, I am. Better that you're back."

"I'm not leaving you alone after this, you know. I'm gone for what, three months? And I come back and you're a fuckin' superhero. Wow."

Josh huffed a small laugh. "I know. I can hardly believe it myself, some days. Rest up."

Josh left the medic's tent and headed for Colonel Phillips's office. His work had only begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get 5000 characters for the end notes and that's a free pass for me to go absolutely HOG WILD on the meta and unfortunately that means all of you have to see it. 
> 
> Steve Rogers and Josh Dun might seem like very different people and it's true, they are. Josh is nowhere near as angry as Mr. Rogers, even if he did grow up tiny. But the thing is, Josh does have the same determination to do what he thinks is right. He just won't argue with you about it because it's just not worth the emotional effort. I mean, we've all heard his stories about the lengths he went to to avoid getting caught listening to his music back when he was younger. He just _looks_ less stubborn. He's also got Steve's one-track mindedness. He quit his ENTIRE job just to play one (1) show with Tyler, and he said himself that he really had no other plans for life other than being in a band with him. Josh has also said that people used to take advantage of him because he looked so nice and sweet and harmless (and he IS) so he had to Toughen Up and get his piercings/mohawk/etc so people would take him more seriously. Compare that to Steve, who went into Erskine's microwave for essentially the same reasons. They've both got the same determination to look out for the little guy and the whole Buff + Soft combo down pat. I'm not sure if I'm going to go with the MCU's interpretation of the Civil War arc but you and I both know that Josh would absolutely tell the entire planet to go fuck itself if it was going after Tyler. 
> 
> On Tyler's tattoo: He's still seventeen and can't legally get a tattoo, but when did that ever stop him? It's the one in his inner arm that spells John 16:33. He lied to get that one before he was captured.


	9. Caricature

Josh leaned over a table in Allied HQ in London. An enormous map of Europe was spread out over it, generals from all over the world looking at the areas Josh had marked with HYDRA markers. Cigarette smoke filled the air and the air bubbled with phone calls and military jargon.

"The fifth one was here in Poland, right near the Baltic. The sixth one--"

He pinned a marker over the area.

"That was about here, around thirty miles west of the Maginot Line."

A soldier took away the map, and beneath it was a map of Asia.

"Any here?" someone asked.

"I didn't get as good of a look here, but there were only four, two in Japan--"

He marked Hiroshima, then Nagasaki.

"One was in Korea, right along the Imjin River. The other was in Samoa, right here."

"Thank you, Captain," Colonel Phillips said.

"I mean, it's not completely accurate. I just got a really quick look."

"Nobody's perfect," Debby said.

"Thanks."

"But these are just the weapon factories that we know about. Tyler-- Sergeant Yusef said that HYDRA shipped the parts they made to another facility that wasn't on the map."

Phillips turned to Debby. "Agent Ryan, coordinate with M16. I want every Allied eyeball looking for that main HYDRA base."

"What about us?" Debby asked.

"We are gonna set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass. What do you say, Dun? It's your map, you think you can wipe HYDRA off of it?"

"Yes sir," Josh said, at the thought of fighting sent an excited shiver up his spine. "But I'm gonna need a team."

"We're putting together our best men."

"Oh. With all due respect, sir, so am I."

There were a number of men Josh had met on the way back to camp. Some were from the 107th, others foreign. All the soldiers were given shore leave in London, and now would be the perfect time to ask them.

He wasn't sure if they were going to say yes, however.

* * *

Tyler went to the bar with him. The place was crowded with over a hundred other soldiers, all rowdily singing, and Josh was glad to have at least one familiar face around.

"I'm just gonna have a seat over at he counter," Tyler said. "I'll save a spot for you."

"Thanks."

It was hard to see any individual features through the thick haze from all the cigarette smoke and the identical uniforms, but he could spot his men after some time. There was Mark, Jon, and Rakim, gathered around a table. They had become good friends after they stole the tank together. Jack was sitting near a window with a cigar, and Dallon was nursing a bottle of beer, watching a poker game.

Addressing crowds had become easier, but speaking face-to-face had not. It took a lot of effort and smiling to keep his voice from shaking when he asked them if they wanted join his team.

They were surprisingly enthusiastic. Perhaps the knowledge that Captain America would be on their team gave them some courage, though Josh had no idea why.

The only one with a prerequisite was Mark, and all he wanted was that Josh open him a tab. That would be easy. Royalties from all his commercials and comics earned him more money than he knew what to do with.

Tyler nursed a glass of soda. Drinking wasn't something he was aching to do, despite being just a few weeks shy of being able to drink (in the UK, at least).

They sat together at the bar counter.

"So," Josh began, sipping his beer. He grimaced at the awful taste. His father, when he was still with the family, had told him that it was an acquired taste. Josh had never drank beer aside from a few stolen gulps from his father's bottle as a child, and frankly, he didn't think he was patient enough to acquire a taste.

"So," Tyler said, looking over at him.

Time to pop the question.

"You wanna follow Captain America into the jaws of death?" he asked.

"Nope," Tyler said, and Josh froze.

"I'm not following him," Tyler continued, "I'm following you. But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

Josh didn't miss the little up-and-down Tyler gave him as he said that. If Tyler liked it, Josh was going to wear it for the rest of eternity.

"You know what?" he said. "I think it's growing on me."

His eye caught Debby entering the bar in a red dress. It was the first time Josh had ever seen her out of uniform. She looked lovely. He didn't know they could make fabric that red.

"Captain," she said.

"Agent Ryan," Josh said, both he and Tyler standing at attention. He wasn't too sure how British ranks compared to American ones, especially across branches, but he was fairly certain he outranked her now, a Captain with several new medals. Still, he saluted.

"Ma'am," Tyler said.

"Boyd has some equipment for you to try out. Tomorrow, at eight."

"That sounds good," he said.

She looked around the rest of the bar. The other soldiers had gone silent in amazement when she had arrived, and they all immediately averted their gaze when she looked at them.

"I see that your top squad is prepping for duty," she said, distasteful.

"You don't like music?" Tyler asked.

Josh wasn't sure if he was flirting with her or genuinely indignant at the idea that Debby didn't like music. Both, probably. This was going to be interesting.

"I do," she said. "I might even go dancing when this is all over."

"What's stopping us from dancing now?"

Tyler wasn't a smooth talker in the slightest; in fact, he was the exact opposite, but girls in school had always found it charming. Debby didn't, apparently.

"I'm looking for the right partner," she said flatly, "One who's old enough."

She turned to Josh. "Eight hundred, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be there," he said.

Debby nodded and disappeared.

Tyler was crushed. "Wow. I'm-- I'm turning into you, it's like a nightmare."

Josh laughed. "Don't worry. She'd say the same thing to me. She's twenty-two."

Tyler's eyes bugged. " _What_."

Josh grinned. "Yeah."

Tyler buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God," he said. "Don't ever let me near her again, please. How could you let me do that?"

"You'll be eighteen in a few days," Josh teased.

"She's still four years older than me!" he said, not looking at up. "Oh."

Tyler sat back up, grabbing his glass and taking a large gulp of his soda, resigned. "Do I look that young?" he asked.

"Not a day past sixteen."

"Thanks, pal."

* * *

**1941: December**

Pearl Harbor was destroyed in a blaze of fire late Sunday morning while Tyler and Josh hid in a corner booth in Mr. Pershing's ice cream parlor, Josh with an Italian ice and Tyler with a banana split. There was a large radio in the corner closest to them, blasting a gloomy Billie Holiday song that seemed to lend to the greyness outside and the drizzle of fine rain misting the large windows. Tyler's parents gave him a few dollars for his birthday a few days ago and Mr. Pershing was the only man in town who let Josh in to his whites-only business. Thank God the winters weren't cold here.

"How are your classes going?" Tyler asked, because the world seemed adamant on driving them apart and they couldn't go to the same school.

"They could be better. I'm not sure what I'm going to do on break, though," Josh said before putting a mouthful of lemon-flavored ice in his mouth, pressing the icy, tart sweetness against the roof of his mouth to let it melt and he shivered.

The music suddenly cut off. Everyone in the parlor stopped and looked at the radio.

"One, two, three, four. Hello, NBC, hello, NBC. This is KGU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company building. We have witnessed this morning from a distance, a view of a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and a severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of KGU tower. It is no joke, it is a real war."

Tyler and Josh looked at each other.

"The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and await results from the Army and Navy. There has been fierce fighting going on in the air and sea. The heavy shooting seems to be..."

The voice devolved into static and unintelligible babble.

"One, two, three four," the man said, voice returning. "just a moment, we'll interrupt here. We cannot estimate yet how much damage has been done, but it has been a very severe attack. The Navy and Army appear now to have the air and sea under control."

The operator cut in. "Uh, just a minute. May I interrupt for just a second, please? This is the telephone company. This is the operator. We are trying to get through an emergency call. Could you--"

More static.

"Well, we are talking to New York, now."

Static.

"One, two, three, four. Hello, NBC."

The NBC announcer cut in. "One moment, please."

There was nothing more.

"What _was_ that?" Tyler asked.

"I don't know."

Tyler gave Josh his coat on the walk home. 

* * *

War was declared the very next day. They sat around the table, eating breakfast, labneh spread over pita and olive oil. The little radio, sitting on the kitchen counter, dangerously close to the wet sink, played the president's voice through the little apartment as they all listened.

"Yesterday," Roosevelt declared, "December seventh, 1941-- a date which will live in infamy-- the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premediated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory."

Roosevelt continued speaking. The clock ticked, and they were all going to be late, but no one moved a muscle. The USA had promised to not get involved with foreign affairs, but now, after years of covertly supplying the UK with weapons and money, they finally joined.

"-- so God help us all."

The broadcast ended.

"Well," Tyler's father said, sipping his coffee. "It's a world war, now."

* * *

  
"I'm gonna join," Josh said after dinner. The sun had set long ago and the two of them were curled up inside Tyler's bed. Neither of them were particularly large, and they fit easily on the twin sized mattress if they faced each other and folded their limbs together. It was dark, but he could hear and feel Tyler shifting on the mattress and he knew he was giving Josh an incredulous look.

"What?" Tyler asked.

"I'm gonna join the Army," Josh repeated.

"Josh," Tyler began, and maybe it was subconscious but Tyler began to curl tighter around Josh, "You could die."

"This is bigger than me," Josh protested. "You know how I've felt about joining for years."

The Allies could have stopped Nazi Germany from rising, and yet, for five years, Europe and America stood by as Germany mowed over Poland and France. Josh knew he wouldn't live for a long time due to his health, so he might as well die doing some good.

"Fine," Tyler said. "But what about your health? They're not gonna let you join."

"They need every man they can get," Josh said. "I'm sure they'll let me in."

Josh actually wasn't sure, but saying that wouldn't help his argument. It was entirely within the realm of possibility, though. He tried not to think about the smoke from the guns sending his lungs into an attack. He'd be able to manage it, he had been able to for years. He didn't care if he would be in pain. This was a cause worth fighting for.

"Josh--"

"Tyler--"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Tyler asked, sensing his frustration. "It's the middle of the night. We'll figure it out once they pull out the draft. We're not eighteen, nothing's happening yet."

"Fine. Goodnight, Tyler."

"Goodnight, Josh."

* * *

 

They liked to do their homework on the fire escape. They were in the same grade, but the curriculums of their schools were different and they couldn't copy each other's work, much to their mutual dismay. Josh had swept the escape while Tyler fetched some quilts from the closet so they could wrap them around themselves for protection against the winter air. The sun was already going down at four and Josh tried to do his arithmetic faster so it would be done before they'd have to use the electricity.

They watched the people milling about on the streets. He had only been living with Tyler and his family for a few weeks and the smells from the shops and the potholes in the streets were still unfamiliar to him. Some men on the opposite side of the road had stopped in front of a brick wall with buckets of paste and rolled-up posters. They unfurled several and held them against the wall, using a big brush to smear paste on the bills. Josh watched the backs of their overalls as they worked.

"Josh, how do you spell 'inasmuch'?"

"I think you just spell it like it's pronounced."

The men across the courtyard finished putting up the poster. They walked away with their rolled-up posters and bucket of paste, whistling, leaving behind an enormous bill. Emblazoned on it was a caricature of a yellow-skinned, buck-toothed, apelike Japanese soldier, the Imperial flag on his cap, wielding a knife in one hand and looming over a terrified white woman. The slogan above the image read, 'THIS IS THE ENEMY'.

A few passerby stopped to look at the poster. Josh swallowed. He looked at Tyler.

"Josh--"

"It's not important," Josh said, looking away. "It's just a poster."

Tyler set down his notebook and started to get up. "The paste is still wet, I can go down--"

Josh grasped Tyler's sleeve. "Don't. You don't need to defend me."

"Alright," Tyler said, lowering himself. "I won't."

"I'm sure they won't put up any more," Josh said. "It's just because we started the war and all."

But that wasn't true and they both knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Tyler and Josh being literal babies: The Immigration Act of 1924 forbid any new immigrants from 'undesirable' Asian countries, including Japan, and other laws prevented existing immigrants from becoming citizens. Josh's father was only half white and born in Japan, and would therefore be barred from becoming a citizen. Josh would have had to be born in the USA in 1925 or later in order to be able to join the Army at all when the government called for volunteers in the camps. 
> 
> On propaganda: Anti-Japanese propaganda was created almost immediately after the war began. The poster that's hung up on the street looks like [this.](https://artifactsjournal.missouri.edu/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/Hannah-Miles-Figure-1.jpg)


	10. Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this is where the warning for the non-con kissing comes in.

Josh waited at the entrance of Urie's lab. It was eight-fifteen in the morning (he hated using military time) and the steel doors were still sealed. Dozens of workers were crowded around worktables, crude expletives and howls of laughter in harmony with the ringing of pounding metal and crackling welding torches. His sensitive hearing also picked up the smaller sounds: the mutters of measurements made and the rustling of oil-stained dungarees and the squeak of rubber gloves rubbing together. Loud, chaotic, and creative.

He heard a muffled explosion and the faintest ring of shattering glass behind the door. Boyd must be having fun with that cartridge he picked up in HYDRA's weapon factory.

A young private was manning the desk as a secretary, her feet up on her desk as she read a newspaper. Her blonde curls glinted in the bright light.

"Excuse me," he said. "Is Mr. Urie in there? It's been a while and he hasn't come out yet."

"He's in with Colonel Phillips," she said, not looking up from her paper.

"Oh, okay."

He sighed and folded his hands in front of him, waiting. He wasn't in any rush. 

The private looked up from her paper and did a double take when she saw who he was.

"You're welcome to wait, of course," she said, much friendlier than before. 

"Oh, yeah." Josh resisted the urge to frown at her. He awkwardly backed up to lean against another desk, a little farther away from her. 

The private wasn't about to let him go, though. She snapped her newspaper shut.

"I read about what you did," she said, swiveling in her chair to show him the cover.  _'400 PRISONERS LIBERATED FROM NAZI WEAPONS FACILITY'_

"Oh, the-- yeah."

Josh gripped the edge of the table, trying to keep the awkward tremor out of his voice. His eyes darted around the office, looking for something other than the private to look at. He towered over the woman, but he felt like he was five-foot three again, knobby-kneed and tight-chested with stress. 

"Well, that's, uh, that's just doing what was-- what was right," he said.

So much for not seeming nervous. The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Sounded like more than that. You saved nearly four hundred men."

Josh smiled and nodded, trying not to look too terrified as she twirled her ankle. A lot of women flirted with him back when he sold war bonds, and he had gotten slightly better at pushing them away. Unlike those girls, however, there wasn't an agent or security guard to push them away when they lingered.

"It's really-- it's really not a big deal," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. God, he hoped she didn't think that the anxious flush on his face was a _blush_.

"Tell that to their wives," she said, standing up and sauntering over to him. Josh crossed his arms and his legs, swallowing. Where the hell was Boyd?

"Uh," he said, trying to think of a response, "I-- I don't think they were all married."

The private was not discouraged by Josh's lack of interest. She was so close to his face.

"You're a  _hero_ ," she whispered.

"Uh, well, that just depends on the definition, really--"

She grabbed hold of his tie, tugging him closer. "The women of America owe you their thanks. And, well, seeing that they're not there..."

She glanced away, acting coy. She suddenly tugged him up from the table, across the office and towards a secluded corner.

She kissed him, and Josh could taste waxy red lipstick in his mouth as he stood, breath caught in his throat. Her lips pressed insistently, hands roaming. His eyes were wide open in alarm, staring at her hair.

He could push her away. He was strong enough. Why wasn't he pushing her away?

Her hands came to rest on either side of his neck, holding his head and Josh's shaking hands rose to try and push her away, but they were paralyzed.

"Captain!"

The private pulled away, leaving Josh stunned as he stood, trembling in a very unsoldierly manner in front of Debby. The door to the lab had been opened. He infiltrated a HYDRA base all on his own. He endured weeks of pain from the serum. He had been forced out of his home into a concentration camp. Why was he so scared now?

"We're ready for you, if you're not otherwise occupied," she said, voice flat and unamused.

She turned on her heel, and that was what he needed to detangle himself from the private and dart after her into the lab.

"Debby-- Agent Ryan!" he called.

The wobble in his voice made her stop. She turned around, observing his expression. Machines in the lab sparked and roared behind her.

"You're..." her eyes darted from the smudge of lipstick in the corner of his mouth, to the sweat that beaded on his brow, to the wild look in his eyes and the way he was shaking ever so slightly and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah."

Her face softened when she realized what had happened. "She didn't force you, did she?"

"No, I-- I let her."

"Doesn't look like it."

Josh was suddenly very angry at himself. "I'm sorry," he laughed, head hanging.

"For what?"

"For making a fuss. I didn't push her away when I could've."

"That's not your fault," she said, starting to walk again, slower this time so Josh didn't have to rush after her. "It happens. We'll have a word with that private later."

Josh sighed in relief, breath shaking. "Thank you."

He didn't want to think about the fact that that was his first kiss. He was just here to for a shield.

Urie was at the very back of this lab, standing next to a table laden with strange materials and prototypes. His eyebrows had been fried and soot smeared his face. 

"There you are," he said, and Josh smelled smoke when he went forward to shake his hand. "Sorry for the delay. We had a bit of a mishap with that cartridge you brought back."

He held up a bandaged hand. "But let's get to business. This is carbon polymer," he said, patting a dark piece of cloth on the table. "It'll withstand your average German bayonet. Though HYDRA's not gonna use pocket knives on you."

He walked further down the table, and there was Josh's old prop shield. The dent from Schmidt's fist was still there.

"I hear you're kind of attached," he said, patting it.

"It's pretty handy," he said, the terror from the kiss finally beginning to dull.

"Well, I took the liberty of coming up with some different options."

He stopped in front of a collection of shields, silvery and unpainted with a number of different designs.

"This one's fun," he said. "She's been fitted with electrical rays that allow you to..."

Josh tuned him out when he spotted another shield tucked under the table, just out of the line of sight.

"What about this one?" he asked, picking it up. It was shaped like a circle, curved like a low dome to deflect blows.

"That one's still just a prototype," Boyd said.

He felt its weight and balance in his hand, tilting it back and forth. It was light, lighter than most metals.

"What's it made of?" he asked.

"Vibranium. It's stronger than steel and a third the weight."

There were two straps on the back where his arm would fit. He swung it around and slipped it on.

"It's completely vibration absorbent."

Josh was sold. Vibranium was the rarest metal on Earth, and he knew that he wouldn't see anything else like it.

"I'll take it."

"Good choice," Urie said. "You'll need a better outfit, too."

* * *

The Colonel rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Dun. Listen to me. I don't care how good these men are-- we can't approve your choices. America finally has a hero to root for, and turning around and having him serve with Negroes just isn't gonna fly with them. We can't let support for the war falter."

Josh straightened and set his jaw. He wasn't going to back down. "With all due respect, sir, I remember you saying that wars are won because we have the best men. I'm following your advice. Their color doesn't matter."

"The American public just won't approve."

"Maybe  _your_  public. Listen, sir, there's millions of people who came from neighborhoods like mine who are serving--"

Colonel Phillips shook his head. "They make up less than ten percent of the population. Everyone thinks you're white, too, and for everyone's sake, I hope it stays that way."

Josh sighed and tried to push down the upset that swelled up inside of him. Nonstop weeks of training with his new shield, making sure the medics were actually taking care of Tyler, and badgering the Colonel about his team had left him more than a little tired and frustrated. 

Josh didn't like to consider himself crafty, but he wasn't above using any leverage he might have. He's had enough of this debate.

"Sir? You know, uh, if you don't agree, I could always go back under the SSR for study."

He gave the Colonel a funny little half-smile and a shrug.  _Just so you know._

Phillips's face darkened when he realized what he was implying. Josh's heart raced as he opened his mouth.

"You..." he trailed off, and looked away before composing himself and looking back at Josh. "The Army is taking no responsibility for this, do you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" Josh said.

* * *

Josh's team went out for their first mission a week later.

The first base was in France, deep in a foggy forest.

Josh and his team stalked through the woods, Tyler flanking him and protecting his left with his rifle as the others trailed behind about twenty feet back. A company of men were fifty feet behind. The snow was old and soft, muffling their footsteps. Josh was wearing the new costume Urie had designed for him, reminiscent of his old Nylons per Tyler's insistence.

It was six in the evening, and twilight had sunk deep into the land. It was a confusing time when light and shadow blended the world into a muddle of grey and brown, but it wasn't a problem for Josh, not anymore.

He could see the factory, dark and hulking and looking exactly like the one he had rescued his teammates from. They were so much braver than they gave themselves credit for, being willing to return to a place like this.

He stopped several feet behind the tree line, waiting for the others to catch up to him.

"I can't see," Tyler mumbled.

"Okay," Josh whispered, addressing everyone. "Let's go over the plan one more time. Jon, Mark, Jack will spread out and wait at either side and center of the front. Rakim, you'll go ahead and blow out the entrance. Me, Tyler, Rakim, and Dallon will rush in, and Jon's team will stay back and pick off anyone we miss. Got that?"

"Yessir."

"Once we're in, Rakim will get the search towers in a counterclockwise pattern while Tyler flanks him. Jon's will cover them until it's dark. Jon's group and the rest of the men can come in once it's dark again. I'll rush the entrance. Once the outside is completely taken care of, the rest of you fall in and go inside the building, and we'll go through the building with half of Love Company and find the control room. In there, we'll hit the self-destruct mechanism, and we'll haul ass out of there before it blows. Are we clear?"

Nods all around.

"Okay, let's go."

Jon's team crept ahead, spreading out and getting into position, guns at the ready. Rakim crept forward, clutching a grenade. Once he reached the edge of the treeline, he pulled the pin and tossed it with a pitcher's arm, landing perfectly in front of the gate. There was a moment of silence before all hell broke loose.

The gate exploded, and Josh's team rushed in, guns blazing. Josh charged at the front, shield raised, carrying a small pistol in his other hand. Tyler was directly behind him, shooting over his shoulder. Dallon and Rakim kept their backs to each other, protecting their sides as they rushed in to take cover behind a large stack of crates.

Alarms began to blare, and the searchlights switched on with a  _boom!,_  flooding the outdoors with bright light that cut through the fog.

"GO!" Josh shouted. Rakim and Tyler raced from behind the crates, Tyler flanking as they rushed for the first search tower. Jon and Josh's teams covered them as they rushed forward. Tyler shot out a window, killing one of the guards inside. Rakim threw a grenade into the hole, and they both scampered out of the way as it exploded, sending ash and debris into the air. Smoke mingled with the fog, and the compound grew a little darker.

They moved onto the second out of four. Jon's group followed them behind the tree line outside the base, and Josh's group got ready to move again.

Dallon set up the heavier gun, preparing to blow out a jeep or damage a truck to create cover further ahead. He took aim and fired while Josh and someone from Jon's group covered. He missed, then struck a soldier, and then hit a jeep, knocking it onto his side.

A searchlight went out.

They leapt over the crates together, Josh rushing ahead and blocking assault from the front with his shield as Dallon backed him. They made it to the jeep, but the soldiers began attacking from the sides and back now that they were deeper within the base. They switched positions, Dallon against the jeep and Josh against him, the shield guarding Dallon's back as he took aim at the soldiers. Josh picked off any soldiers from the side with his pistol. The stink of gunpowder and blood filled his nose.

Another searchlight went out. It was getting dark, and Dallon was missing more.

Someone tossed a grenade at their jeep. It didn't make it over the vehicle, but the blast was large enough to rock the jeep upright and send them scrambling back. Another one fell, this one right in front of them. Thinking quickly, Josh slammed his shield over the grenade, bracing his arm. The explosion was muffled and the force of it jolted his body.

Dallon covered his back as Josh overturned the jeep again.

"We're gonna need some new cover!" Josh shouted. "This one's not gonna hold!"

"Working on it!"

He didn't need to. The last search tower went down, and the base was plunged into darkness. The only light that remained was the glow from the factory itself.

Jon's team, along with Love Company, charged in, guns blazing as the last of the Nazis were gunned down.

"Okay, Dallon! Let's go!"

He rushed forward, shield out, charging for the entrance, waiting for more HYDRA soldiers to pour out. He heard footfalls behind him as the rest of his team fell in, Tyler replacing Dallon as his flank.

Josh kicked the door off its hinges, sending it flying back into the hallway and knocking several soldiers behind them down. Josh pushed forward, providing cover from the front as his teammates assaulted from behind him. The hallways were tight and the turns were sudden, and Rakim and Dallon replaced Tyler, tossing grenades and blasting around corners and into any room they passed.

Love Company followed them, catching up to them on the production floor.

"There's prisoners in here!" Josh shouted. "Split!"

Love Company halved, one group heading for the underground prison, the other half following Josh's team, pressing themselves close to the walls and near the entrances, guns aimed at the doors to shoot down anyone who came through them.

Glass shattered. Josh looked for the source of the sound amongst the gunfire, and saw the factory director falling out of a broken window that framed the control room that overlooked the production floor.

Tyler lowered his gun, spent shell clattering to the floor.

"Nice shot," Josh said. "Did he hit the buttons?"

"Nope," he said. "We gotta do it ourselves. This way!"

Josh ran ahead into one hallway, finding the stairs. More soldiers were waiting and shot at him, and he used his shield to block the bullets before tossing it like a discus at them, knocking three down in one expert blow. The shield ricocheted perfectly and returned to his arm.

"Nice shot," Tyler said. "Are they dead?

"Nope."

"Always cleaning up your mess."

Josh's team and Love Company ran up the stairs, dodging fallen HYDRA soldiers and shooting down live ones. Josh used his shield to knock the soldiers aside, down the steps and sometimes over the railing into the dark below.

They made it to the top of the stairs, Love Company spreading out as Josh's team searched for the control room. There were less soldiers and more officers up here, and gunning them down was easier than the armored, armed fighters.

"Go look through the rooms and take any info you can find! Evacuate right after and make sure your other guys are out of here!" Josh shouted down the hall as he and his six men left behind the other soldiers.

The control room was at the end of a long hallway. It was entirely empty, with nothing but a large, gaping hole in one window, blood splattered over the controls. Jon and Mark watched the doorway while Tyler and Dallon watched the factory floor. Rakim, Jack, and Josh hit the bright red self-destruct buttons. They really made this too easy.

The timer began to count down. They had seven minutes.

"HEY!" he shouted out the window. Love Company was evacuating a legion of captured soldiers. "Get out of here!"

They began shuffling faster.

"We're done here, yeah?" Jack asked.

"Yup. We're out of here."

They all left the control room and waved the other half of Love Company down.

Josh heard gunshots and screaming halfway down the stairs. There were still some Nazi soldiers not yet down for the count. He and his group ran down faster, bursting onto the factory floor to aid Love Company and the liberated soldiers. Several already lay dead as half of Love Company tried to defend them. The soldiers were hidden behind large pieces of machinery, aiming at Love Company. Josh threw his shield and felled one of the missiles, which knocked over several more and flushed them out of hiding. Love Company and Josh's team picked the dozen-odd soldiers until there were no more.

"Are there any more?" Josh asked, retrieving his shield from where it lay on the ground some feet away.

"Not that we know of!" the Love Company leader shouted.

"We've only got a few more minutes! Let's go!"

Three hundred men followed him, streaming out of the front and into the freezing outdoors. It was entirely dark out now, and they all ran, trying to get as far from the factory as possible before it blew.

They had only been running for a minute and a half before the factory exploded in a rumble of fire, briefly illuminating the forest to reveal the shadows of hundreds of men darting through the forest like frightened deer.

They ran and they ran, chasing the road that lead to the factory to the rendezvous point, Love Company guiding the freed soldiers, Josh sprinting at the lead, ahead of Love Company, ahead of the liberated men, ahead of his team, shield strapped to his back, pistol holstered. It had started to snow again, and the cold flakes melted against his hot, sooty cheeks. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he breathed, wanting to whoop with joy. His first mission had succeeded. He was doing everything he had ever wanted to. He survived. He was alive.

He was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Howlies: The team consists of Josh Dun, Tyler Joseph, Mark Eshleman, Dallon Weekes, Jack Barakat, Rakim Mayers (A$AP Rocky), and Jon Bellion. If you are very observant you will notice that they are all on the list of Josh's boyfriends, current and previous. They're a good team.
> 
> Also, we're 2/3 of the way there!! Yay!!


	11. Ink

**1943: December**

War was several long weeks of boredom, interspersed by brief moments of pants-shitting terror.

Sometimes, however, the borders separating the two blurred.

Tyler never had nightmares before. He always slept peacefully, sometimes snoring, and sometimes he had bad dreams, but never anything that had him waking up screaming.

Josh and the other Howlies panicked when it first happened, a few nights after their first mission in France. It was the middle of the night, and they were safe in London when Josh woke up to the sound of Tyler tossing and turning in the cot next to him. At first, Josh thought he was just trying to get comfortable, but then Tyler suddenly went stock still, sucked in a breath, and then shot straight upright, shrieking like a dying rabbit.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Mark shouted, leaping off his cot onto the ground. The other Howlies followed, ducking for cover, war-hardened brains conditioned into assuming they were under attack. Josh had not seen combat as long and went for the light, flooding the large room with a safe golden glow from the gas lamp.

Tyler was breathing hard, his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were unfocused and glassy, and he didn't seem to notice Josh or anyone else in the room.

"Tyler?" Josh asked. The other Howlies knew he was closest to Tyler and let Josh talk. "Are you okay?"

Cautious, he reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Tyler flinched like he had been struck, and Josh's hand immediately retracted.

"I'm..."

Tyler looked around, finally seeming to realize where he was. He looked up at Josh, bewildered. Pity and fear welled up in his chest.

"You're here, Tyler. It's me, Josh. Look at me."

Tyler swallowed and blinked, looking down at his sheets, then at the other Howlies, and finally at Josh.

"Are you okay?" Josh asked again.

"Yeah," he said, voice hoarse. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a bad dream. Sorry to scare you guys."

He let out a weary chuckle and ran a hand over his hair.

"That's fine, Tyler," Jack said. "You definitely didn't have a normal experience in there."

The other Howlies nodded.

"I'm gonna go back to sleep," Tyler said. "But, uh, could you leave the light on?"

"Sure thing, Tyler."

 

Despite his trouble at night, Tyler seemed to be in good health, physically speaking. His pneumonia cleared up in less than a week after being rescued. He ate heartily, almost as much as Josh did, and he regained his lost weight and more.

Josh was having breakfast (a stack of pancakes, a slab of bacon, enough coffee to kill an elephant, and three boiled eggs) when Tyler tapped his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Josh asked, mouth full of food.

"I missed my birthday," Tyler said.

"Oh!" Josh said, swallowing the last of his eggs. "I'm so sorry I didn't remember."

"That's fine. I didn't even realize it until Debby told me."

"Are you old enough to dance with her yet?" he asked, reaching for a banana. They were rare during the Depression and now rationed due to the war, and he was not to be deprived of his favorite fruit.

Tyler shook his head. "No, but I can get a tattoo. Legally. Gimme a banana."

"Is that what you're planning on doing for your late-birthday?" Josh asked, handing Tyler one. "Another tattoo?"

"Mm-hm," Tyler said, peeling it and biting it with gusto. "There's some guys around here that know how to do it and have the stuff."

"That's great. What are you thinking of getting?"

"Uh, it's a cross, but it's not like the usual ones most people get," he said. "Hey, Rakim, you got a pen?"

"Yeah. Here ya go."

Rakim passed him a pen from across the bench. Tyler set down his banana and took his napkin to draw on it, creating a design that looked like two lowercase 'i's. He filled in the lines and passed the pen back to Rakim, sliding the napkin to Josh.

"I don't see the cross," Josh said, studying the shape.

"That's because you're looking at the black part," Tyler said. "Look at the white spaces in between the black."

Josh squinted and-- oh, there it was.

"That's a really neat design," Josh said. "I like it. Where are you getting it?"

"On my arm," Tyler said, pointing to his left bicep. "They say that place hurts the least when you get a tattoo."

Josh was about to ask why Tyler was suddenly shying away from pain when he spotted the small needle scars still lining his arms. Oh. Right.

"Can I watch you get it?" Josh asked.

"Oh, yeah."

 

Despite the fact that Tyler seemed so adamant on getting that tattoo, he seemed awfully nervous as he sat in the artist's chair. It had an unfortunate resemblance the table he had been strapped to for so long, and Tyler didn't hesitate to grab Josh's hand as he laid in it. Josh sat beside him on a stool, the other Commandos gathered around for some extra support.

The artist was a full-figured woman far into her sixties, crepey skin covered with faded tattoos of mermaids and eagles.

Tyler was not wearing a shirt, and Josh was suddenly reminded of the first day he had Tyler back, laying on the cot, pale, half-starved, and weakened by torture and pneumonia. The artist plugged the tattoo machine into a generator and Tyler gripped his hand even tighter. Jesus, his grip had gotten awfully strong. (His hands were still soft.)

His arm had been swabbed with alcohol, the lines of where his tattoo would go crisp and clean, soon to be permanent.

"You alright, son?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," Tyler said. "Just a bit nervous."

The woman turned to Josh. "Don't let this boy squirm."

"Yes, ma'am."

The needle touched Tyler's skin, and he closed his eyes, trying to tune out the sight and sound of ink being etched into his skin.

"Maybe I should get a tattoo," Mark mused.

"Of what?" Dallon asked.

Mark shrugged. "I dunno. Anything."

"That's exactly how you come to regret a tattoo, Mark," Jack said.

"Speaking from personal experience?" Dallon asked.

"Yes, actually," Jack said.

"What happened to you?" Jon asked.

Jack pulled down his pants. The Commandos howled, and even Tyler caught a glimpse and laughed, making the woman scowl.

"I don't know what's so funny, but you best stay put."

"Sorry."

The tattoo was done after three hours. Tyler had insisted that they do it in one long session, just to avoid sitting down in the chair more than once.

"Thanks," he said to her as she wiped away the excess ink from his skin. His flesh was red and swollen where he had gotten the tattoo.

"You good?" Josh asked.

"Yeah," Tyler said. "Better than good, actually. Hey, lady, I'll pay you double if you let me use your gun."

 

Tyler's name was now on Josh's knee. Josh was going to wear shorts forever.

* * *

**1944: January**

The Alps were fucking freezing.

Dr. Arnim Zola was apparently headed for another base in Japan, and intelligence caught wind that he was going by train across Asia. They were going to intercept him here, in one of the coldest, highest, most miserable places in the world. Josh was cold, and he could only imagine how it felt to everyone else. Not one of them complained.

A zip-line had been attached from their end to the cliff right over the railroad. It was secure, but Josh couldn't help but worry about the possibility of the line's hold on the stone breaking. He watched the still-empty rails as Jack and Rakim set up the radio, listening for updates.

"Hey, Josh. Remember when we went to the Pike, and I made you ride the Cyclone Racer with me?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah, and I threw up?"

Tyler's eyes were fixed on the chasm below the zip-line. "This isn't payback, is it?"

Josh smiled. "Now why would I do that?" he asked, batting his lashes.

"Hey, lovebirds," Jack called. "Quit making eyes. We were right. Dr. Zola's on that train. The HYDRA dispatcher just gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they need him bad."

"We've gotta move fast," Dallon said, "'cause they're moving like the devil."

Already Josh could faintly hear the sound of the train rumbling over the tracks. He put on his helmet and checked that his shield was secure.

"We've only got ten seconds," he said. "We're dead if we miss."

"That's awfully reassuring," Tyler said, watching as Josh attached the pulley. He was going first.

Jon counted him off. "One... two... three... now!" 

Josh's stomach swooped as he slid down, down towards the train rocketing through the mountains. He felt the line sag as Tyler and Mark joined him, and he traveled along the line, getting closer and closer to the top of the train until he dropped down. His hands clutched the roof of the train, body blown back by the speed of the wind. He heard Tyler and Mark touch down behind him. He crawled forward towards the front of the car, finding a ladder and a door. He easily tore the lock off, dropping it into the abyss below. The door swung open and he hopped inside, grateful to be out of the wind. Tyler appeared soon after, Mark searching for Zola from the roof.

Tyler shut the door.

The car was lined with racks of heavy, unidentified cases. Tyler stalked forward, rifle pressed to his cheek as he walked with Josh. It was completely quiet, save for the rattling of the cars over the tracks. 

Josh moved forward into the next car, drawing his pistol and guarding his body with his shield. There was no one so far, but he knew they would become aware of their presence sooner or later.

The car doors slammed shut, separating Tyler and Josh. Oh fuck.

Josh darted back to see Tyler staring at him through the glass. He turned away and fired his rifle at some unknown enemy.

Sooner, then.

Something was powering up behind Josh. He turned around to see a heavily-armed soldier preparing to fire a gun so large it needed to be strapped to his back. Josh blindly shot at him, ducking behind some crates for cover. He peeked out and saw that his bullets did nothing. The soldier prepared to fire again. Josh heard gunfire from the car behind him. Tyler was still alive. 

The gun emitted a powerful blue blast that left holes in the back of the train car. He couldn't keep himself there all day. He spotted a pulley on the roof of the car. He leapt up and grabbed it with one hand, holding his shield in the other, forcing the blasts to ricochet off the metal and back on to the soldier, knocking it over. Josh dropped down and bashed him with his shield, destroying the guns and killing him.

He heard more gunfire from the back car. Josh took one of the guns from the dead solider and fired it at the already-damaged back, giving him access to the dark space between the cars. He pressed his back against the door, peering through the glass to see what was happening. Tyler was hiding behind the crates as another soldier fired at him from the other side of the car. His gun was empty.

Josh spotted the button on the wall. He pressed it, and the door slid open, easy as anything. Josh ducked in with him and passed him his gun. Using his shield as a battering ram, he collided with one of the heavy crates and sent it sliding across the rack, forcing the enemy soldier to dodge out of the way and directly into Tyler's range. He shot the Nazi in the head.

No more soldiers appeared.

"I had him," Tyler said.

"I know you did."

There was a noise behind him. Josh whirled around and saw another one of those accursed soldiers armed with the enormous guns.

"Get down!" he shouted, bringing the shield up to protect them. 

The blast cut clean through the door of the train car and bounced off of Josh's shield, hitting the wall and burning a gaping, ragged hole in the side of the car. Tyler and Josh had been hurled to opposite sides of the car, Josh separated from Tyler and his shield. Cold wind blasted through the train car.

The soldier was preparing to fire again.

Tyler picked up the shield and fired at the soldier with Josh's gun, edging dangerously close to the hole in the train. The soldier fired again and caught Tyler off guard. He was thrown off his feet and out of the train.

Desperate, Josh leapt to his feet and retrieved the shield, hurling it at the soldier with as much force as he could muster. The soldier was thrown back ten feet and didn't get up again.

Josh raced for the hole in the train, checking to see if Tyler had fallen.

"Tyler!" he shouted, peering out. 

There he was, clinging onto a piece of railing on the side of the train. Oh, God.

Josh clung on to the side and edged out, trying to reach him. Tyler, hanging on by only his arms, moved hand over hand as he tried to get closer. The fragile railing began to bend and break, and Tyler swayed dangerously in the wind.

"Just hang on!" he shouted.

"Josh!"

Josh reached out with an outstretched arm, praying that Tyler would be able to reach. He had a terrifyingly good view of the ravine below. "Grab my hand!"

Tyler reached out, trying to reach, when the railing groaned ominously and suddenly snapped off, sending Tyler tumbling towards the chasm.

"NO!"

Josh could only watch in horror as Tyler fell into the chasm, disappearing as the train began to turn a corner. He could hear him screaming long after he had lost sight of him.

He clung to the side of the train, helpless. Josh's heart hammered in his chest, each beat a taunting reminder that he was still alive and Tyler wasn't. He was so close. He could feel the heat of Tyler's hand through his glove just before he fell. Tears froze on his cheeks as they spilled from his eyes, the wind whisking them off his face to follow Tyler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 18th birthday Tyler. Too bad you're too dead to enjoy it. (Major Character Death Count: 1/?)
> 
> On the rollercoaster: The Cyclone Racer was a rollercoaster in Santa Monica, built on the pier once known as the Pike. It's meant to be a West Coast version of the Cyclone on Coney Island, which is the one Bucky references in the movie. The Racer was dismantled in 1968.


	12. Phosphorus

**1942: January**

They put up more propaganda. The posters were everywhere Josh went, on billboards, shop windows, at the grocery store, and they ads on the radio and animated shorts before movies started at the theater (Tyler stopped suggesting they go out to see the pictures after the one with Superman was released.) Mr. Pershing, who never made him go to the back of the line, started pointing him towards the back whenever he and Tyler walked in. Josh got a bloody nose from trying to pummel George Wilkins, who flashed him the Jap Hunting License (Open Season! No Limit!) he carried in his wallet.

He didn't want to say it bothered him. He understood why people would be afraid following the attack. But he didn't understand why they were afraid of  _him_. He was born and raised here, and they all knew who he was. He wasn't a saboteur. He was on their side.

It was the worst at school.

Josh hated going because Tyler wasn't there to weather it with him.

Mrs. Smith had decided to spice up the curriculum by bringing news articles of current events to class and having everyone debate different points of view. This ended up embarrassing Josh more often than not.

Japanese forces invaded at Victoria Point in Burma on the fifteenth, little over a month since Pearl Harbor. The news was emblazoned the front pages of every newspaper the next day. Mrs. Smith read aloud an article from the LA Times, and Josh pretended not to notice the glances the other students gave him as she reported the fatalities. He had always felt small, being the shortest and scrawniest in the class, but he felt even more so now that all eyes were on him.

"Josh?" Mrs. Smith called once everyone had read. "What do you think?"

She always asked him what he thought whenever they discussed Japan. He knew why she did it and wished she didn't.

"Uh," he began. "I don't approve."

"Would you care to go into detail?"

That meant:  _Are you lying? Are you secretly cheering them on?_

"I think they're crazy for worshiping their Emperor," Josh said. "And-- and for invading all those countries. Just the same thing as you think."

She raised an eyebrow, and something stubborn took root inside him. They weren't going to trample on him. He wasn't going to be spoken over.

"Hey, Mrs. Smith, why do you always ask me what I think about this stuff?" Josh asked. "You never called on me this much before the war."

The low chatter amongst the class suddenly stopped, tension settling thick and silent over the classroom like heavy snow.

"I-- you're Japanese, after all," she said. "I'm sure you can offer-- offer a different perspective on the issues. Play the devil's advocate, even."

Josh furrowed his brow. "Are you implying that you think I approve of their actions? Just because I'm Japanese?"

"That's not what I said--"

"I said you implied it," Josh snapped. "And implying it is still saying it."

Mrs. Smith sighed. "You're putting words in my mouth now, Josh. You're getting offended for no reason."

Josh gripped the edge of his desk. "I'm getting offended because you  _are_  offending me, Mrs. Smith," he said. His anger tightened his chest and he felt an asthma attack coming on. A few kids in the class giggled at the sound of his wheezing. He glared at them, sour bile gathering in the back of his throat.

"I'm not  _attacking_  you, Josh, I'm just saying that you're from a different background. I'm trying to have a civil discussion here, and if you can't control yourself just because I'm critical of the Emperor--"

Josh stood up, his desk scraping backwards. Whispers went around the class. Josh didn't care. He knew he'd get a beating if he didn't shut up but he was _tired_.

"I was born here," Josh said, voice tight. "I was raised here, and I'm gonna die here. I'm just as American as you are. Don't think I haven't heard you talking about me to the other teachers. I know you want to segregate the school. I know what you stand for--"

She marched across the room and grabbed his arm, her face a brilliant shade of scarlet.

"You are out of control, Josh Matsudu--"

"Dun."

She dragged him to the front and center of the class. She let go of him to rummage through the desk for her ruler.

"Apologize," she demanded, pointing the ruler at him.

"No," he said. His voice cracked as he spoke but he _said it_.

The whole class hooted. Josh wasn't sure who they were laughing at. He didn't care.

"Hold out your hands."

Josh obeyed, small, bony palms raised towards the ceiling. She gripped his fingertips with one hand and raised the ruler with the other. He watched her hand as she raised the ruler high above her head. Her gaunt face was red with anger, and her skinny arms were strong and wiry from years of inflicting punishments.

"Close your eyes," she said, so Josh wouldn't be able to anticipate the pain.

Josh shut his eyes, bracing himself despite the knowledge that trying to prepare would do nothing. He had done this enough times to know it. (One day, he swore, one day he'd snatch the ruler out of her hands and snap it over his knee.)

The only warning he had was the whistle of the ruler as it fell towards his palm.

_Whack!_

Josh choked down the pained yelp that tried to leap from his throat, keeping his face blank so Mrs. Smith wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

_Whack!_

The pain doubled when she struck the same spot on his hand again. Josh involuntarily flinched, but he was too weak to wrench his fingertips free. 

_Whack!_

He glanced out at the class when the first tear rolled down his cheek, biting the inside of his cheek. He wiped it away with his shoulder.

_Whack!_

Blood burst over his tongue as he bit through the soft tissue of his cheek. More tears came, and they soaked the collar of his shirt.  _Just one more._

_Whack!_

Mrs. Smith released him, and Josh stumbled, nearly collapsing to the floor.

"Five ought to be enough," she said, wringing out her hand. "Get back to your seat and don't ever misbehave like that again."

Breath heaving, Josh tucked his hands into his armpits (they were too swollen for him to clench into a fist) and stalked back into his seat, red eyes burning holes into anyone who dared to steal a glance.

He wore the bruises with pride for the next three weeks.

* * *

**1944: March**

They captured Zola. Josh couldn't care less about him.

No, that wasn't true. Zola  _was_  important. He was the one who designed all those weapons. He was the one who tortured Tyler for all those weeks. It was his mission that had gotten Tyler killed. Zola had been squirreled away somewhere safe in America, to be interrogated and eventually recruited along with the dozens of other Nazi scientists they had captured. Josh didn't care how smart he was-- he never wanted Arnim Zola's sadistic work to continue anywhere, for any country.

He'd kill him if he ever got the chance. He knew that with certainty.

That scared him. He hadn't gone into this war hating. He had fought because he wanted to save those being crushed under the heel of the Axis powers, because he wanted to protect America. But then they made propaganda, posted it everywhere, calling him a rat, a monster, a  _Jap_ , every time he went to school or the movies or to the damn grocery store. His President tore him, one of hundreds of thousands, away from his home, from his family, and stuck him in a camp in the middle of the desert because they thought he'd defect to serve a country he never knew. There were boys in his classes who liked Hitler, liked what he said about purity and power and genocide, and those were the ones that hit the hardest when he tried to shout them down because he was  _weak_. There were businessmen in town who drank champagne when Japan took Korea, the Philippines, Manchuria, because they now had a hungry new country to sell their products to, and those were the ones who gave everyone jobs at the factories back home.

Who was he supposed to be angry at? It wasn't so easy anymore.

Josh sat in a bombed-out bar, the same one he had recruited his Howlies from, weeping. Nazi bombs had rendered the building into a crumple of charred brick and twisted metal. He didn't care if it collapsed on top of him. It wouldn't kill him. He couldn't die. The rest of London was dark and empty. The power grid had been shut off to prevent fires from exposed electrical wires.

There was a radio on his table, the same make and model of the one the Yusefs owned back at home. He didn't get the BBC at home, though. A soundbite from Hitler's newest speech announcing his cooperation with the Japanese Empire was playing.

_"Pride in one's own race – and that does not imply contempt for other races – is also a normal and healthy sentiment. I have never regarded the Chinese or the Japanese as being inferior to ourselves. They belong to ancient civilizations, and I admit freely that their past history is superior to our own. They have the right to be proud of their past, just as we have the right to be proud of the civilization to which we belong. Indeed, I believe the more steadfast the Chinese and the Japanese remain in their pride of race, the easier I shall find it to get on with them."_

Josh turned off the radio. This was the last thing he wanted to think about.

Josh took a sip of his water. He knew alcohol did nothing now that the serum accelerated his metabolism until it was four times faster than it was before. That was what Erskine had told him right after he emerged from the chamber for the first time, over glasses of brandy from Ausberg. He told him to enjoy it while he could.

His water was salty. Rebellious tears kept slipping into the glass no matter how he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

He heard soft footsteps in the distance. There was Debby, walking through the rubble, silent and intent and full of messages like an angel.

"There you are," she said, and Josh feared not. She gestured to the seat on the other end of the table. "May I?"

Josh nodded and wiped his eyes. She pulled out the chair and sat down, staring him down.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," she said.

"Did you read the report?" Josh asked. He typed that one up himself.

"Yes."

"Then you know it was."

His voice cracked at the end.

"Josh, you did everything you could. Did you believe in Tyler? Did you respect him?"

Josh nodded. 

"Then stop blaming yourself," she said. "Allow Yusef the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it."

Josh could tolerate it being his fault. At least he knew whose hands the blood was on. But the idea that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, even with all his strength and speed and quick reflexes, meant that there was _nothing_ he could do to absolve the problem. And that scared him more than anything else.

He went into this war to solve the Axis problem. But the problem was still not solved. He needed to work harder.

"I'm going after them," Josh said. "I'm not gonna stop until every Nazi is dead."

The ball of violent fury in his stomach grew a little larger as he said that. Debby reached out and placed a gentle hand on his wrist, the one that held the glass of brackish water.

"You won't be alone," she said, and her eyes burned like phosphorus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On propaganda (continued): The 'hunting license' George Wilkins owns was pretty popular and came in many forms: as buttons, badges, and fake certificates, some of which looked like [this](http://www.historyonthenet.com/authentichistory/1939-1945/2-homefront/3-anti-jap/Jap_Hunting_License_Cessna_view1.jpg). Popular cartoon characters were used in anti-Japanese animated shorts, and Life Magazine published an article on how to 'distinguish' between Chinese and Japanese people (now's a good time to remind people that the eugenics movement began in America). The war only added fuel to the fire, culminating in the creation of Order 9066.
> 
> On Zola: Following the end of WW2, just before the Cold War began, the USA began Operation Overcast (later known as Operation Paperclip), covertly recruiting over 1,600 former Nazi scientists and engineers to aid nuclear and aerospace development in order to compete with the USSR, who recruited some 2,000 scientists of their own. The secret program officially began in 1945, though Zola was obviously recruited much earlier in the movie's canon. These scientists were never charged or imprisoned for any of their crimes.
> 
> Happy holidays yall


	13. Valkyrie

**1942: February**

The bills were posted all over the city. There was one on the building he and the Yusefs lived in. The title read:

_'INSTRUCTIONS TO ALL PERSONS OF JAPANESE ANCESTRY'_

That didn't sound good. Josh squinted to read the tiny print.

"Now, therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, and Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy, I hereby authorize and direct the Secretary of War, and the Military Commanders whom he may from time to time designate, whenever he or any designated Commander deems such action necessary or desirable, to prescribe military areas in such places and of such extent as he or the appropriate Military Commander may determine, from which any or all persons may be excluded, and with respect to which, the right of any person to enter, remain in, or leave shall be subject to whatever restrictions the Secretary of War or the appropriate Military Commander may impose in his discretion..."

Josh studied the jargon-filled announcement, brows furrowing as he tried to understand the order decreed. Did it say what he thought it did? Relocation? Military? Tyler was better at English than he was, but unlike most days, he wasn't with him. Josh rarely went outside alone nowadays. Aisha and Mohammed and Tyler insisted that he not go out unaccompanied. It just wasn't safe anymore, even in Little Tokyo. Not after the cinder blocks cast through the windows of Mr. Nagaishi's shoe shop in the middle of the night. Not after the bottle hurled at his head by a Bund at a march Josh had passed Downtown.

He had convinced the Yusefs that he'd be able to get them more eggs and sugar without being harassed when he spotted the poster in front of his building. More were posted on storefronts and other buildings. He'd ask the grocer about it.

He crossed the street and walked three blocks to the little grocery store at the plaza, knees feeling a little weak as he thought about the order. He entered, the little bell attached to the door ringing merrily as the door swung. He gave an awkward grin and bow to Mr. Doi before darting towards the eggs and dairy section. He selected a dozen and checked that the shells were intact before picking up the last two-pound bag of sugar. Word was going around that sugar was going to be rationed, and wary shoppers were buying as much as they could. He trotted to the counter, setting down the food before digging through his pockets for the money. Aisha had found the time to mend the hole that had been growing in his left pocket, and his finger traced over the seam, a happy little reminder of her love.

"One dollar and eleven cents," Mr. Doi said.

Josh handed him the money with shaking hands.

"Hey, Mr. Doi?" Josh asked as Mr. Doi bagged his groceries.

"Hmm?" 

"Do you know what those posters are saying?"

Mr. Doi froze.

"Ah. That," he began. Josh's heart sank. It couldn't be good.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"They passed a law giving the Army permission to...  _relocate_  people they think are a risk to this country. Spying and sabotage." 

The groceries sat on the counter, forgotten.

"The sign said all Japanese people," Josh said. "Are they just getting people that they think are gonna turn, or-- or everyone?"

Mr. Doi nodded grimly. "Everyone."

"Even Nisei?"

"I'm not sure. They didn't say. This is just to tell us that they can do it whenever and to whoever they want. I heard they're already sectioning off land."

"Wait, what's gonna happen to the houses and the businesses? They can't just make us leave," Josh said.

The grocer shrugged. "They can. I'm getting ready to sell this shop."

"Are you sure this isn't just some sort of prank?" Josh asked, grasping at straws. "They have a lot of fake hunting passes and stuff, maybe this is something like that."

"Nope. I heard it on the radio this morning. Everyone I met this morning was talking to me about it."

Josh stood stock still, trying to process the news.

"Here," Mr. Doi said, pushing the paper bag across the counter, breaking him from his trance. "Here. Take your stuff. Go back to the Yusefs. Stay with them as long as you can. They're good people."

"Thank you," Josh murmured, taking the groceries and cradling them in his arms.

He wandered out of the grocery store, blinking in the bright spring light. He looked around the neighborhood, and noticed, not for the first time, how much the neighborhood had changed since the war began. Blackout curtains hung heavy and thick in apartment windows. Propaganda hung on every wall. People walked faster now, hurrying, worrying, anticipating Japanese bombers to darken the skies at any moment.

Josh walked back home with his groceries. He didn't know whether to panic or be underwhelmed by the news. Maybe it was just a big misunderstanding. Maybe the government was just trying to evacuate them to keep them safe from other Americans. 

And would they take him, too? His father was white, and Josh took after him. He went by 'Dun' when he could get away with it. He didn't know much Japanese. Would he even show up in the registry if he didn't have parents? If they came for him, should he go quietly? Where would they be taken?

Josh's insides felt cold as he stood in front of his apartment. He entered the building and climbed the stairs, legs aching. He unlocked his door with his copy of the house key and stepped inside, pulling off his shoes and sticking the eggs in the refrigerator and tucking the sugar into the pantry. The shelves were emptier nowadays. Kids were dropping out of school to join the Army, and Mr. Yusef's school might close any day.

"I'm home," he announced.

Footsteps thumped through the halls. "Josh!"

Jay, Maddie, and Zack all rushed Josh, and he nearly collapsed under their combined weight. There they were. Aisha must have been resting with them in another room.

"Oh, there you are," Tyler said, appearing from the hallway after the little ones. "I was getting kinda worried. You were gone for a while."

"Yeah, about that," Josh said, hoisting up Jay with much effort. "Apparently I'm a threat to America."

"Wait, what?"

Maddie and Zack looked up at him, making exactly the same confused expression as Tyler.

"The posters," Josh said, putting Jay down and sighing. "I'm pretty sure you saw them."

Tyler's face went blank as he thought. "The really wordy one?" he asked.

"Yeah. That one. I almost didn't notice it. It was a bit hard to understand, but Mr. Doi said the military's gonna get rid of all the Japanese people on the West Coast."

Tyler's eyes widened. "Wait, like  _killing_?"

"No, no, no," Josh said. "He said they're just relocating us. Whatever the hell that means--sorry, Mrs. Yusef."  

Tyler smiled, though his face was pained by the bad news. "So... what are we gonna do?"

"Nothing. They didn't give a day or time. It basically just announced that it's legal for them to get rid of us whenever they want."

"Like a sneak attack?" Tyler said, pulling Maddie onto his lap. Zack climbed up onto the table, and neither Tyler or Josh stopped him. 

"I guess so."

Tyler sighed, rocking Maddie. "I'm sorry it's like this, Josh. Is there anything we could do about it?"

"They already hate us," Josh said. "There's nothing we can do. But I'm sure it'll be okay."

They looked at each other, knowing that Josh was lying. 

* * *

**1944: March**

Zola spilled. All those HYDRA factories were working on a plane, one nearly the size of a football field and shaped like a great arrowhead. A lump grew in Josh's throat just seeing the images captured by aerial reconnaissance. Hitler had originally ordered that an entire squadron be produced before any attacks could be carried out, but their plans had been accelerated to compensate for all the factories and bases the Allies had managed to destroy in the last few months. 

"Johann Schmidt belongs in a bug house," Colonel Phillips said, pacing back and forth in Allied HQ's main meeting room. "He thinks he's a god, and he's willing to blow up half the world to prove it, starting with the USA."

Josh sat up at the front, forcing himself to keep still, Debby and the Howlies by his side. He and the remaining Commandos had taken three more Nazi bases and liberated one concentration camp following Tyler's fall from the train. (Josh found it hard to make eye contact with the liberated prisoners. He forced himself to, for the prisoners' sakes, but he felt a stab of something deep in his gut when he saw the hollowness of their cheeks, the exhaustion in their eyes. His time in Manzanar was nothing compared to what those men had been through.)

Boyd Urie spoke up. "Schmidt's working with tech far beyond our capabilities. They've managed to perfect nuclear weapons just three weeks ago and we're not even close to figuring it out. He'll wipe out half the western seaboard in an hour should he get across the Pacific."

"How much time we got?" Jon asked.

"Less than twenty-four hours."

"Where is he now?"

"Right here. Five hundred feet below the surface."

Colonel Phillips pointed at a pin stuck into a map deep in the Himalayas, far from the rest of the bases that were further west in Europe.

"So..." Jack began. "It's too far for our planes to reach, and we don't have enough time to arrange a large-scale attack. What are we supposed to do? I mean, it's not like we can just knock on their front door."

"Why not?" Josh asked. "I mean, you said it yourself. We don't really have much other choice than just showing up."

* * *

They didn't want action. Josh was captured quietly. He walked ahead of the Howlies and Whiskey Company, marching up to their gates in his star-spangled suit and watching with glee as he saw the soldiers stop in their tracks at the sight of him. He waved at them. He hoped they could see his grin beneath his helmet.

He didn't fight when they grabbed him. He could wrench himself free and bludgeon them, and the Nazis knew this. The two holding him by each arm held their bodies away from him as they took him down an elevator, as if that would help in such close quarters. They knew it was a trap. He knew they knew it was a trap. 

Josh requested an audience with the Red Skull, and the Red Skull obliged. He had no radio that connected him to the Howlies or Allied HQ. He would have to rely on blind faith alone.

They took him up to his personal office, set into the side of a mountain. He saw Schmidt's silhouette in the far side of the room. The room was filled with terrible weapons. Josh wasn't afraid. The Army was coming. 

"What on Earth are you here for?" Schmidt asked, strutting over. Josh could see his skin, red and wrinkled and weeping in some places like a terrible sunburn. His hair was sparse and coarse, the follicles damaged. Maybe it wasn't the serum that deformed him. Maybe it was the Vita-Rays. 

"Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say you do it better than anyone," he said. "But there are limits to what even you can do, Captain. Or did Erskine tell you otherwise?"

"He told me you were crazy, and I think he's right."

"Yes, he did. He resented me. He knew I could accomplish far greater things than he. I represent Aryan perfection and yet he chose a  _mutt_..."

Josh tuned him out. Was he supposed to believe this man was genetically superior? He looked like the crust that formed on top of the Yusefs' stove. Worse, maybe, because the crust back home couldn't talk.

"So what made you so special?" Schmidt asked. "You think you could take all of HYDRA on your own?"

"Nothing," Josh said. "I'm just a guy from L.A."

Something about this made Schmidt incredibly angry. Josh got a fist to his face for his troubles, knocking his helmet askew. Schmidt beat him again and again, until he fell to his knees. He didn't get up, let the soldiers hold him there.

Josh spit his blood onto the Schmidt's boots. "I can do this all day," he growled.

The Red Skull smiled. "Of course you can. Unlike you, however, I am a very busy man."

He took out his gun, a small pistol, and aimed it at Josh's head. 

Josh didn't panic. He saw a series of moving shapes outside the window. The Howlies were here. He ducked out of the way just as Schmidt fired, and three Howlies broke through the glass on zip lines. 

There was chaos. HYDRA soldiers swarmed the office, trying to fend off the Howlies. Whiskey Company began their siege down below. Someone brought Josh's shield with him and tossed it to him across the room, and he immediately used it to knock Schmidt across the face. Score.

Schmidt retreated through another door on the opposite side of the room. Josh pursued, the Howlies and a few members of Whiskey Company watching his back as he gave chase through the secret tunnels, fighting his way past the steel doors that threatened to seal him off. He could hear several other soldiers racing to accompany him, and the sound of Schmidt's footfalls as he raced further into the mountain. He was heading for the eastern side of the base, which meant that he was headed for the single finished plane, the name  _Valkyrie_ emblazoned on the side.

The tunnel lead to the great hangar, which was a complete mess. The Army had managed to breach the base, and fallen HYDRA soldiers were everywhere. Whiskey Company was having an awfully good time wiping the floor with them, gunfire echoing in the enormous cavern. 

Josh darted forward, but was suddenly blocked by three Nazi soldiers, firing at him. He raised his shield and ducked low to protect his legs, watching as Schmidt boarded the plane. He charged towards the first soldier, shield up, sweeping his leg and catching his ankle, knocking him over. Someone, who Josh suspected to be Dallon, shot down the second. The last one turned tail and fled, leaving Josh free to chase Schmidt.

A horrific hum rose through the air, making his bones vibrate. The  _Valkyrie_  was starting up, with the Red Skull and his nuclear bombs inside. He ran after the plane, super speed bringing him close, but not close enough. He leapt for the landing gear as it slowly began to rise off the runway, desperately begging his legs to go just a little faster.

Tires squealed behind him.

"Hey! Get in!"

There was Debby, driving a stolen HYDRA saloon car. Josh's mouth dropped open. He hopped into the passenger's seat without needing to be told twice.

Josh watched the speedometer rise and rise as she accelerated, the wind whipping so hard Josh felt his eyes water. He squatted in the seat, ready to jump up as the car caught up with the plane. He took another glance at her, at her hair flying wildly, and a wild, manic sense of appreciation began to thrash inside him.

"Debby?!" he shouted over the wind.

"What?!" 

"You're a goddamn treasure, you know that?!"

She took her eyes off the road for a moment, grinning up at him, smiling so wide he could see her molars glinting in the light from the Valkyrie's engines. He laughed, a jumbled catharsis of all the pain and joy of the last three years.

"Faster!" he shouted, and they were pressed back in their seats as they were finally beneath the Valkyrie.

He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it tight, one last touch before he leapt up and grabbed onto the plane's landing gear. He heard the car screech below him and saw that Debby was braking now, swerving to avoid going over the edge of the airstrip. She was safe.

Josh turned his attention to the plane, now. The landing gear was slowly lifting into the plane, taking him inside the cabin. He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Bunds: The German-American Bunds were an American Nazi organization formed in 1936. Members of the Nazi Party in Germany were sent over to the Americas to establish a presence there, with most membership being in German immigrant communities. Largely centered in the Northeast, the Bunds established 'training camps', held marches and parades, and spoke against American boycotts on German goods. The Bunds had over twenty thousand members at its peak before declining and eventually dissolving in 1941, their leaders deported back to Germany.
> 
> On Nisei: That's the term for second-generation Japanese immigrants, who were born in America and are natural citizens. First gen are called issei, and third gen are called sansei.


	14. Clover

**1942: March**

Josh stood in front of the cemetery gates. He never brought showy flowers to her grave; just the little white clovers and the daisies that grew in the parks. Those were her favorites. He had a small bunch of them tied together with a thread. 

The graveyard office was just a few feet away. He never had any problem going up to the desk and signing in, but today was different. This might be his last Sunday with her, if the rumors about the camps were true.

He took a deep breath (as deep as his underdeveloped lungs could go) and walked into the office. 

Stephanie was behind the desk, as usual. They were familiar sights to each other now. She gave him a small nod as he signed in and exited through the back door, into the graveyard.

Helen Matsudu was buried in the northwest corner of the graveyard, closer to the brick wall than most. Josh passed the other headstones, reading their names. Some were fresh and new, others so old that he couldn't read what was carved on the stone. Some of the graves were beyond ornate. One rich man had a small pyramid dedicated to him. His mother had no such stone. It was granite, state-issue, carved with her name, date of birth and death, and nothing more. Anyone seeing her grave would not think much of her, but Josh knew the truth.

She was a mother. She was a lover. She was a friend, a daughter, a sister, cousin, niece, nurse, live-saver. She was so many things, and sometimes it seemed as if Josh was the sole bearer of that truth.

He found her grave and sat down on top of it. The grass had grown over her plot, tender and young, and Josh smoothed it under his hands as he stared at the pale grey stone. He took out the old, withered flowers from last week and put them in his shirt pocket to discard later, laying down the new ones in their place.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

Talking to her was awkward at first. But then he saw an old man talking to his wife a few headstones down, and he realized that all grief was the same. His mother didn't protest, anyways.

"I've been doing good," he continued. "I guess. The Yusefs are alright, too. I think they worry about me more than you do."

He smiled, playing with a pebble he found in the soil. 

"I told you about that executive order. They're gonna take us away this week, on Wednesday. They haven't told us when or if we'll ever be able to come back. So this might be my last time talking to you, at least for a while. I'm sure they'll let us out when the war ends. I'd like to argue with the President about it but then I'd get slapped with a seven thousand dollar fine. Can you believe that? I don't think I'll ever see that much money in my life."

Money.

"I'm sorry if I couldn't take care of you. I know you said that I'm not responsible for that, but I was. I should have gotten a job or something, to help pay for everything. I mean, you wouldn't have let me, but--"

Josh shrugged and slouched further.

"Maybe I wouldn't feel so bad, you know?" 

Josh could resist the temptation to lay down no more. He curled up on his side, staring at the grass that now seemed to pierce the sky. His whole body easily curled within the constraints of the plot, and his curly hair brushed against the cool headstone.

"I don't know where you are, now," he admitted. "I just want you to be with me. Wherever I go."

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep on his mother's grave until he woke up, the sun warm and gentle on his face. He sat up and brushed the dirt off of his clothes and took the bus home.

"How was it?" Tyler asked when Josh returned to their apartment.

"Good," Josh said. "She's still quiet."

* * *

Josh had lived with the Yusefs for nearly a year now, and the little he owned had settled into the house like stones pressed into drying clay. Josh waited until the very last day to finally pack his things into a suitcase. It was his only way to protest. Today he would be forced out of his home.

His clothes, the astronomy book Tyler had given him for this thirteenth birthday, a notebook and a pen, a comb, a pack of asthma cigarettes, and a small envelope of photographs (of the Duns and Yusefs alike) all easily fit into his case. That was all he owned. The bag was light, but his heart was heavy.

Josh figured he was lucky. He didn't own a shop or a house that he would have to sell like everyone else. More and more stores were closed each time he walked down the streets to school, the streets emptying with each passing day as more people volunteered to go to preserve their dignity.

Dignity. Josh didn't care about dignity anymore. George made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot him when he walked into class after the seven-day notice was first announced. Josh tackled him in the middle of class, tearing the collar of George's shirt as he shook him furiously, trying to drown him in his tears and frothy spit and blood from where George punched him in the mouth. He answered to the principal for jt, and he let himself sob when he struck him five, ten, twenty times and slapped him with a three-day suspension. It didn't matter. He wasn't coming back here. (Would the prison have a school?)

Josh looked around the room he and the Yusef siblings shared. Simply removing himself didn't make it look the way it did before. The closet now had extra hangers. Tyler now put his slippers a few inches to the left at the foot of his bed. The nightstand was missing a photo. The air faintly smelt of the herbs from his cigarettes. He had stretched the room like a tight-fitting shirt.

Jay slept in his crib. That was something that hadn't changed. Josh was glad that he and the other Yusef children were too young to fully comprehend what was going on. Even Maddie, who was seven and insisted that she knew everything, thought that Josh was just moving to find work.

He wondered how old they'd be when he came back.

Josh crawled onto the fire escape, watching the street below him. It was crowded with people lining up to board half a dozen buses that blocked the traffic. They could only take what they could carry. They all dropped their bags in a large pile to be taken separately. Josh could see suitcases piled on the sidewalk, paper tags fluttering in the wind, marked with family names. Wantabe. Hamada. Takei. Matsudu. The children were tagged similarly, little vessels filled not with clothes or blankets, but faith. Military personnel kept the lines orderly and helped the young, sick, and elderly onboard. He didn't understand why they'd take them. How could a three year old be a spy?

A commotion broke out. A young man Josh didn't recognize broke free from the line and dashed away. The MP keeping watch of the crowd raced after him, catching up quickly and tackling him to the ground as he screamed.

"I'm an American! This isn't legal!" he shouted. His words fell on deaf ears as they cuffed him and marched him back to the bus.

Josh's heart hurt. He looked away, startling when he saw Tyler standing right behind him.

"You okay, Josh?" he asked.

"Yeah," Josh said, though his voice wobbled. "I'm just--"

He took a deep breath, feeling tears well up in his eyes for the second time that day. "This isn't  _right_ ," he finally said, collapsing against the wall in grief. 

Tyler reached through the window and touched his wrist, his hand warm against Josh's perpetually cold skin.

"I know," Tyler said. "I just wish we could do something."

He saw two soldiers enter their building. There was a pounding on the door a few minutes later. Aisha came into the room, looking harried.

"It's them," she said. "The bus is leaving in ten minutes and they threatened to come in if you didn't go yourself."

"Okay," Josh said, resigned. He crawled back inside, Tyler stepping out of the way. He crossed the room and hugged her, smelling the spices that permeated her clothes and skin, wavy hair crushing against his cheek. She pressed a small kiss to the top of his head.

"We're going down together," she said.

Josh grabbed his suitcase, carrying it with his forearms (his palms were still bruised from school) and exited the apartment, the Yusefs following him. Josh stared up at the two soldiers as he walked past them, hoping they could feel the fury that pressed against his insides, aching to burst out.

"Momma? Is Josh gonna come visit?" Maddie asked.

The others didn't have the heart to correct her.

Josh and the others exited the building, Tyler stepping ahead so he was at his side. The pile of suitcases had grown so large that the last of them were set only a few feet away from the door. Josh didn't set his case down. Putting it down would bring him closer to leaving.

The first four buses were full. Josh could see the backs of dozens of heads through the windows, little children with round faces peering out. He walked down the block towards the last bus where people were still boarding. He put down his suitcase in the pile and stood still for a moment, halfway between the Yusefs and the soldiers.

"Hey, get in line," one said.

Josh ignored him. He turned to the Yusefs, hugging them one by one, picking up Jay and twirling around the way he liked. He laughed and shrieked, loud enough that his voice echoed on the street.

"I'll write," Josh promised them, handing Jay back to his mother.

"You better," Tyler said, voice wobbling.

Josh was about to turn away when Tyler grabbed his arm and hugged him one more time, arms like a vice around his skinny body. Josh could feel his chest shaking from how close they were pressed together.

"I'm with you," Tyler whispered, voice thick with tears. "To the end of the line."

He pulled back, holding Josh's shoulders. "You hear me?" he asked, giving him a shake. Tears were streaming down his face.

"I hear you," Josh said, his chest burning. "And I'm with you. Always."

A surly MP cut in.

"We're on a tight schedule here, let's keep it moving."

Josh pulled away, savoring the lingering feeling of Tyler's arms around him. Slowly, he stepped onto the bus and walked down the aisle, past all the seats until he was at the back of the bus, taking a seat on the right to face the Yusefs as they all watched him.

The engine started, and Josh felt the vehicle rumble as it slowly pulled away from the curb. Josh reached out the open window and waved, not breaking eye contact.

They were soon out of his line of sight. Josh sighed and turned away, staring at the seat in front of him as they left Little Tokyo.

Josh closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch his home disappear.

* * *

**1944: March**

Josh crawled up into the enormous bay of the plane. The thing was the size of a small warehouse. Much to his horror, he could see nearly two dozen bombs in the bay. Each one was the size of a small fighter jet, and the tops had hatches, with a seat inside, complete with controls. Dropping the bombs was a suicide mission. Bile rose in his throat.

Closer inspection revealed names on the noses of the bombs. Each one read a city. SEATTLE. SAN FRANCISCO. LOS ANGELES.

Josh was going to throw up.

Footsteps echoing from the other side of the bay had him ducking behind a column. They were quiet as they emerged from a tunnel into the bay. Josh peeked around the corner and saw that they were pilots, getting ready to board their crafts. He wondered how they could be willing to die like that.

Then again, Josh wasn't much better.

They were about to pass him. He had no choice but to fight. He punched the first one, sending him flying back with an exclamation of surprise. The others reared back in surprise, unsheathing small knives kept at their hips and advancing on him, wicked blades glinting in the blueish light.

The first pilot tried to stab him; he grabbed his arm and wrenched him sideways, punching him in the kidney and possibly several ribs. The second one behind him tried to run up on him while he was distracted, but Josh shifted his weight and gave him a solid kick, sending him over the railing and onto the landing gear. The last pilot tried to run away and sound the alarm, but Josh snatched the knife from the first man and threw it across the bay, sending it spiraling through the air before it struck the man perfectly on the back. He let out a puff of air as his lungs punctured, collapsing of one of the bombs.

The first pilot wasn't done. He took advantage of Josh's inattention and punched him in the face. Josh stumbled back, spotting the third pilot crawling away to board the bomb intended for Boston.

Josh grappled with the first pilot, boxing the side of his head, disorienting him. Josh gave him one last punch, sending him several feet back and not moving. Josh raced for the control panel he spotted further away. He desperately pressed every button, and one of them opened the bomb doors, sending both the bomb and the pilot away into the clouds. A harsh chill came into the bay.

Two new pilots had snuck up on him while he was taking care of the other one. One was coming down from the stairs to the upper floor, and he lunged for Josh while the other tried to grab him from behind. He ducked the punch of the first one and kicked him square in the stomach. He staggered away in defeat, giving Josh time to take care of the second one.

He didn't have time for any of this nonsense. He grabbed him and tossed him out of the still-open bomb doors.

Josh heard a clanking sound behind him. The pilot he had punched had boarded one of the bombs, the doors now opening as the craft's propellers began to spin, the door sealing the pilot inside. He didn't know how far those things could go, but he did know that the plane was going fast enough that it was easily already halfway across the Atlantic. Desperate, he leapt onto the bomb, taking his shield and trying to break the door open with the edge. Another pilot tackled him from behind, cracking his face against the glass and knocking his shield out of his hands onto the space next to the bay doors.

The pilot inside released the craft from the doors, and Josh's stomach swooped as the bomb fell.

The pilot on his back was still fighting him, trying to bring his arm around Josh's neck in an attempt to strangle him. These guys didn't know when to give up. The bomb continued falling steadily, the large propeller on the back starting to spin faster and faster as it prepared to gain altitude. Two wings extended from the sides, and the pilot inside began swerving back and forth madly in an attempt to throw Josh off the bomb. Josh swore and tucked his chin to his chest as he tried to buck the other pilot off of him, keeping one hand clamped on the edge of the door.

The pilot suddenly began to dive, sending Josh and the other pilot sliding forward towards the nose. Just as he thought he was going to slip off, the pilot ascended, and Josh tumbled towards the rear propeller in horror.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed onto the fin of the craft. The HYDRA pilot, however, was not so lucky. Josh watched in disgust as a spray of gore trailed out behind them as the pilot began to return to the Valkyrie.

Josh's grip on the fin was slipping, and the pilot was still ascending. He spotted a small button near the door of the raft. He gripped the fin with his left and prayed to every god he could think of before reaching out with his right hand and pressing the button. The door slid back and the pilot, having assumed that Josh was dead, looked up in surprise. Josh pulled the release lever before he could react, ejecting the pilot, seat and all, into the sky.

Josh slid into the now-roomier cockpit, grabbing hold of the yoke and steadying the plane before pulling the door back into place. The Valkyrie was nearby. He flew higher, matching the giant plane's altitude and circling around it by about five hundred feet, aiming to reenter through the back.

Schmidt must have spotted him, because explosions began ringing out in the sky and the craft jolted. He glanced at the plane and saw that several turrets had been installed in the top, following his trajectory and shooting at him. Zola had really thought of everything. He ducked and weaved, moving in a serpentine pattern as he tried to keep an eye on the back of the plane and dodge the artillery at the same time.

He finally spotted the open back of the plane. He adjusted his velocity and aimed for the back, accelerating until his head pressed into the back of the cockpit, and he could see the details of the bay come into view. He braced himself for the impact.

The contents of Josh's skull rattled around madly as the bomb tore through the metal support columns and knocked the other crafts out of alignment, and he nearly brained himself on the control panel when the bomb suddenly came to a stop. Breathing hard, he forced the hatch open and leapt out, inspecting the damage.

He could see the glint of his shield further off. He stumbled through the debris, still slightly dazed, and picked it up, keeping it on his arm.

He crept through the plane. It seemed to be entirely empty aside from the pilots he had taken care of.

He came across a door with a small window in it; he peered through and saw the enormous cockpit. This was it.

Josh opened the door silently, looking around the room. The entire front of the plane was made of glass, and he could see that they were far above the Earth now, almost in space. Josh would have been amazed any other time. Right now, he had a Nazi to get rid of.

He slowly descended the small flight of stairs in front of the door, looking left and right. The seat in front of the controls had a high back and Josh couldn't see if Schmidt was aware that he was there. He stepped forward, feet entirely silent on the metal as he passed a strange glowing device in the middle of the room. The glow was the exact same shade as the rays that came out of HYDRA weapons. He wondered if whatever was in there was the power source for all their horrible tools.

He was only a few feet behind the control chair before he realized that it was empty. He heard the high whine of a HYDRA gun powering up, and he whirled around to see the Red Skull staring him down, pistol ready to fire.

Josh raised his shield just as he shot, and the blast was deflected off of the vibranium surface and instead went through the glass of the front of the plane, creating an enormous hole. Cold air began to whistle as it blasted through the new entrance, but Josh didn't shiver behind his shield.

Schmidt shook his head. "You don't give up, do you?!" he taunted.

He didn't stand a chance if he didn't fight back. "Nope!" he shouted, charging for the disfigured man. Schmidt shot at him again and again, and each time Josh deflected the blasts with his shield, finally getting close enough to bash his face with the hard, flat surface. With a pained grunt, the Skull dropped his gun. Josh took the opportunity to try and break his neck with a swipe of the edge of his shield, but Schmidt feinted and ducked to punch him in the gut.

Stunned at the force of his blow, Josh bent over, and Schmidt punched him in the face, his shield falling from his grip. Schmidt wrestled him away from his weapon, giving him a kick in the stomach with his iron-toed jackboots. Josh gasped, winded, but managed to catch his foot the second time he kicked, standing upright to force the Skull back against a wall. Schmidt freed his arm and punched him back, blood bursting inside Josh's mouth as the inside of his cheek spilled as he fell back.

Desperate, he grabbed a crate and bashed Schmidt's head with it, grabbing him off the ground and getting him into a chokehold. His gloved hands tore at Josh's forearm, eventually throwing his entire body to the side and sending the both of them crashing over the glowing centerpiece, closer to his shield. Josh let go of Schmidt to grab it, preparing to strike him with it when he saw that Schmidt had already righted himself, grabbing the shield away from him and swinging it, hitting him square in the face. Schmidt slammed him against the glowing fixture, the shield pressing the breath out of him, and an old panic about his asthma welled up inside of him as he struggled to breathe.

He reminded himself to stay calm, and he reared his head back and smacked it against Schmidt's, pushing him back enough for Josh to wrestle the shield away from him and hit him with it again, sending him flying into the back of the pilot's seat and into the controls. The Skull hit the yoke of the plane and began sending the  _Valkyrie_ soaring downwards, sending both Josh and Schmidt towards the back of the plane as it fell.

Josh managed to stop his fall against a support column, but Schmidt swooped onto him and continued fighting him. Josh wrestled, kicking and punching wherever he could as they painfully tumbled over fixtures in the plane, horribly aware of how close the plane was to crashing in the sea.

Schmidt managed to kick Josh away from him and crawl back towards the controls. Josh tried to shake out the ringing in his head as the Red Skull adjusted their course, sending Josh tumbling back down to the ground.

Shit, where was his shield?

"You could be a god!" Schmidt shouted, and Josh could see that he was hanging on to the pilot's seat, wielding his pistol. He spotted Josh crawling close to the ground and shot at him, barely missing him by a few inches. Josh's breath caught in his throat and he moved faster.

"Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations!"

He shot at Josh again, just barely missing, mocking him. Josh managed to get to his feet now, clinging onto the railing as he spotted his shield several feet away. Leaping for it would be safest.

"I have seen the future, Captain," he spat. "There are  _no_  flags!"

Josh hated his stupid monologues.

"Not mine!" he shouted, ducking out of the way as Schmidt shot at him, lunging for his shield and bringing it up to protect himself as another blast came his way. Josh took the opportunity to stand back up and hurl the shield at Schmidt, catching him in the stomach and sending him flying back until he crashed against the glowing fixture in the room, hitting it so hard that the metal broke, blue sparks rising.

Something began to rise from the middle of it as Schmidt crawled away from the device, and the blue light began to spread until it nearly enveloped the whole room, a strange humming sound filling the cockpit. Josh gaped in horror. What was that thing?

The glow faded somewhat, and Schmidt got to his feet, swaying.

"What have you done?!" Schmidt demanded, picking up a cube that seemed to be the source of the light and sound.

The cube began to glow brighter again, something looking like smoke rising through the air, the humming returning. Schmidt didn't seem to be able to look away from it, transfixed by its burning light like a moth to a flame. Something deep and ancient inside Josh told him to shrink away from the cube. He curled against the wall, wishing he could hide behind his shield.

The strange smoke emitted from the cube suddenly shifted outward, revealing an empty void, perfectly black, sucking in all the air from the room. Horrified, Josh watched as Schmidt began to burn. He could only watch, petrified, as Schmidt's skin bubbled, his diseased flesh tearing from his bones and disappearing into the void. Josh could faintly hear him screaming above the humming of the cube. Soon his arm was gone, and now the cube began to dissolve his torso, his organs, his face. 

A minute later, Schmidt was nothing but a desiccated skeleton, crumpled on the ground. The overheated cube melted through his hand, and then through the floor, and Josh crept forward and watched it melt through the metal of the ship, eventually falling out the bottom and into the Pacific. Good riddance.

He picked up his shield and tugged off his helmet, running a shaky hand through his messy hair. He'd have time to process this later. Right now, he had a continent to save.

He sat down at the controls, grabbing the yoke and trying to get a read on the plane. He noticed that autopilot was set for Los Angeles. He tried turning it off. The switch was broken. He tugged the yoke to the left, and saw that the plane was willing to move, but it stuck to its original path the moment he let go. His hands were tied. Shit.

Several other things had been damaged during the fight with Schmidt. The landing gear was down. Great.

A light was flashing, one labeled 'feuer'. Josh didn't know what that meant, and hoped that it wasn't anything important.

He fiddled with the radio for a few minutes until he managed to get ahold of the last HYDRA base's channel.

"Come in. This is Captain M-- Captain Dun. This is Captain Dun. Do you read me?"

Jon's voice responded. "Captain Dun, what are your--"

Debby's voice interrupted, obviously having shoved Jon out of the way. "Josh, is that you? Are you alright?"

"Uh, Schmidt's dead. I'm not."

"What about the plane?"

"It's flying, but that's it. I can't get the landing gear down and the autopilot can't be turned off unless I'm there steering it."

"Give me your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site."

Josh smelled smoke. He sniffed the air again to confirm. He was currently over the northern Pacific, how on Earth--

He crashed the bomb into the bay. Schmidt had sent the plane careening everywhere. That cube sent sparks through the whole plane.

Feuer.

 _Fire_.

"I can't do that, Debby," he said, dread tying knots in his stomach.

"Why not?"

"The plane's burning."

Josh swallowed and continued. "I can't put it out and I don't know what it would do if it kept burning, with those bombs around. I'm right over the water right now. I can put it out here."

"But what about you?"

"It's millions of people we're talking about," he said, feeling a deep sense of peace and purpose fill him as his new duty dawned upon him. "I can't take that risk."

The smell of fire grew a little stronger, and another light on the board began to flash. The left engine was burning, too.

"We have time," Debby protested. "We can figure it out."

"No, we don't," Josh said. "I'm sorry, Debby. This is my choice."

Josh steeled himself and forced the yoke down, sending the plane diving below the cloud line, revealing an enormous sheet of ice floating on the water. That explained the frost forming on the windows. He shivered, cold for the first time since receiving the serum. It was a feeling he hadn't missed.

"Debby?" he asked, voice almost too small to be picked up by the radio.

"I'm here, Josh."

"I... Thank you," he said. That was all he had to say. "Thank you for being my friend."

The ocean was fast approaching. The barometers were flipping wildly as he descended so quickly his ears popped. The  _Valkyrie_  flew through the last of the clouds, and Josh had an unrestricted view of the ice, and of the sunset turning it pink and orange and blue like a dream.

"You too," Debby said, and Josh might have been imagining it, but he could hear tears in her voice. "You always have so much faith in me."

"The same to you. Have you ever been to LA?" he asked. "I'll show you around sometime. I know the beaches in the UK suck. No offense."

"None taken-- everyone hates the weather," she said, and he could hear her sniff. Something about the sound finally, finally broke him, and he didn't stop his eyes from welling up and spilling tears in a nonstop river. His hands were too stiff to let go of the yoke to wipe them away, and his tears froze to his cheeks and made icicles on his eyelashes.

"We can-- we can visit the Rose Garden," he offered, voice breaking. "In Exposition."

"That sounds perfect. When are you free?"

Josh blinked. "Ask the Colonel. He should be able to arrange my next furlough."

The water disappeared from view, and all Josh could see was the ice. Guess there wasn't any chance of him swimming to safety after all.

"Mine is on the last week of April," Debby said.

"That's perfect," Josh said, not wanting to think about how close the ice was now. "The flowers are the best that time of--"

The  _Valkyrie_  smashed into the ice with an almighty _boom_ , and Josh was thrown out of his seat into the back of the plane. His head smacked against the back wall, and he was momentarily blinded by the pain, settling onto the ground, motionless as he tried to orient himself. He opened his eyes, vision blurred. He could see that he was laid out against a column, staring up at the opposite wall, listening to the freezing Alaskan water rush in. He could hear the loud hiss of steam in the back rooms as the water extinguished the fire, and the plane groaned as it sank deeper into the melting ice.

He could see his shield on the opposite side of the room, red, white, and blue gleaming at him. He hoped he did a good job. Because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep going, to keep fighting like this. He was exhausted. 

The water lapped at his legs, and it was so cold that it numbed him. He let it flow over his body, slowly but surely losing sensation in his limbs. He wondered if he'd freeze or rot. He didn't know if he wanted to leave a body to bury. He wondered if they'd even be able to find him. Light was quickly fading, meaning the ice on top was freezing over again, leaving him with a very small pocket of air.

He started to float, and he let his limbs float loose in the water, too cold to think clearly. The water started to cover his mouth and get in his nose, and he was only vaguely aware of the panic that some strange part of his brain was experiencing. His senses were wrapped in thick wool, muffling everything into a harmless buzz. He shut his eyes, feeling the cold water rush over them and seal them shut, water in his nose, his ears, his mouth, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe--

It was so peaceful.


	15. Downtown

**1944: April**

Debby got her furlough. She visited Los Angeles on her own, wandering through the Rose Garden and trying not to weep as she took in the perfume and petals of each bloom. It didn't work. The security guard found her crying under the nymph sculpture. He offered her a handkerchief and a taxi ride back to her hotel, and the kindness managed to break her heart further. 

* * *

**1945: May**

V-E Day. They celebrated. Months and months of long, hard missions finally paid off. They toasted the Captain, and the Sergeant, and when the festivities died down in the evening, they all ached. 

* * *

**1945: August**

Over two hundred thousand people died in a haze of atomic fire. Colonel Phillips didn't want to think about the irony of using nuclear weapons on Japan just a year after Captain America had saved them from bombings of their own. 

* * *

**1945: September**

They found the Tesseract. They didn't find Josh. Boyd had only met that man (hardly older than a boy) a few times, and yet he felt a strange sense of responsibility for him. The energy signal stopped once they found the cube, but he instructed his crew to keep searching for the wreckage. 

* * *

**????**

Josh's eyes felt like they had been glued together. He breathed in deep, rubbing his eyes. He felt  _terrible_.  

He finally managed to get his eyes open and sat up, stretching and hearing his back crack. He was dressed in a white, cotton shirt and soft khaki pants. He was barefoot and his hair was clean and dry. He looked around the room. 

It looked like he was in the hospital, on the upper floors. His bed was much more comfortable than they normally were. Maybe not being so skinny and sick had something to do with it. The window was open, and late-morning sunlight streamed through. Cars rushed by somewhere far below. A gentle breeze was blowing, rustling the curtains, and the air was clean and devoid of the smell of diesel and smoke from restaurants.

Strange. 

His attention turned to a little radio on the nightstand. It was the same make and model as the one the Yusefs owned.

_"So the Rams are tied, 4-4. And the crowd well knows that with one dash, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at the Colosseum. The Steelers have managed to tie up at 4-4. But the Rams have three men on. Pearson beaned Hall in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favour? Parker leans in. Here's the pass. It's caught. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo. Twenty yards will score. Hall heads left. Durocher's going to wave him in. He stumbled, but they won't get him."_

Odd. That game sounded familiar, despite the fuzziness in his head. 

The doorknob turned before he could think on it further, and a young woman came in.

"Good morning," she said. 

"Where am I?" he asked, throat dry.

"You're in a recovery room in Los Angeles."

_"The Rams take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Rams! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game indeed."_

He looked at the woman closely. Something about her appearance seemed  _off_. He didn't know what it was-- the makeup, the hair, the tie. Her accent was strange, too. Softer and faster than the way most people spoke. Maybe that was just her.

The radio and the smell definitely wasn't just him, though. 

"Where am I, really?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The game," he said, realizing when the game was from. "It's from September, 1941. I know that because I was there."

Fear dawned across her face, but he saw how she tried to push it down and level her expression. She was lying. Josh didn't like to intimidate people with his size, but he wasn't sure if this woman was on his side or not. He got off the bed and approached her, slowly, until she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

"I'm gonna ask again," he said, slowly. "Where am I?"

He heard a soft click and saw that she had pressed some sort of alarm hidden in her hand. Shit. 

"Captain Dun--" she began.

Josh could hear heavy footsteps behind the door. Their weight and the strange shifting of fabric told him they were soldiers. 

"Who are you?!" he demanded as two black-uniformed guards burst in through the door.

Were they HYDRA? Was this some sort of dream? Was this the afterlife? It certainly wasn't heaven.

One guard reached out to try and restrain him. Panicked, Josh grabbed him and threw him at the wall, which collapsed in a shower of drywall, revealing a black hole. 

Josh spent a moment gaping at it. So he wasn't in a recovery room. He darted through the hole he made, knowing that he had to escape. He was probably in some sort of military base, and he might have to fight his way out. Where the hell was his shield? And his _shoes?_

He could hear the agent shout something as he ran from the large, dark holding room and out a small door. 

"All agents, Code Thirteen! I repeat, all agents, Code Thirteen!"

He burst through the door and found himself in a brightly-lit hallway, filled with dozens of people walking back and forth in black suits. They darted away in fear when they saw him, and Josh was immediately confused. This place didn't look like HYDRA. 

All the more reason to keep running.

He followed a glowing green EXIT sign, eventually coming to an enormous atrium, made of glass and shiny stone. Jesus Christ, where was he?

He didn't have time to take in the view. He could hear several guards running after him, and the other people in the building scrambled at the sight of him. Panicked, he raced down the stairs, feet slapping on the cold stone as he shoved through a glass door (nearly knocking it off its hinges) and out into the city.

It was loud. It was bright. It was smelly. It was nothing like the fake recovery room, and it was also unlike any city he had ever been in before. The cars-- there were so many cars, and they were all shaped so weird, what the fuck? 

He ran, and he ran, and he ran, trying not to think about the unfamiliar smell and the strange clothes and cars and buildings and he never knew they could build towers this high, they blotted out the sun, for God's sake. 

He made it to Downtown. He recognized some of the buildings, but nany had been torn down in favor of larger ones made of glass. He spotted a sign. ' _Historic Downtown_ '.

Historic? He had seen those towers go up. The oldest ones were less than forty years old.

He stopped running, standing stock still on the sidewalk when he realized what was happening. The question wasn't where he was. It was  _when_  he was. 

Several large, black cars surrounded him, and he snapped back to reality to find that he was trapped. Josh put his hands up, ready to fight if need be. 

Someone got out of one of the cars. He was bald-headed and dark-skinned, wearing a trenchcoat and an eyepatch over his left eye. His face was stern, his posture stiff as he approached Josh, hands folded behind his back. 

"At ease, soldier," he said. "Look, I'm sorry about that whole show back there, but..."

He trailed off, gesturing at the city around them. 

"We wanted to break it to you slowly."

Josh looked at the skyscrapers, at the people on the sidewalks who were staring.

"Break what?" he asked, though the answer was already dawning upon him.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."

Asleep. He wanted to laugh. Josh couldn't call himself  _asleep_. He allowed himself a harsh scoff.

"You gonna be okay?" the man asked, voice gentle. 

"Yeah," he said, though he was slowly sinking to the ground, about to curl in a ball. "Right as rain."

**END OF ACT 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes part one of this AU. Thank you for reading my work, and I hope you enjoyed it! Any sort of feedback is welcome!


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